


Spiritus Sancti

by Fides



Series: Watcherverse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Highlander
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-18
Updated: 2008-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fides/pseuds/Fides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old friends, old memories and old ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Temaris for the beta. Any remaining mistakes most definately my own. First appeared in Connotations 2005 conzine.

"What the bloody hell is he doing!?" It wasn't the first time Giles had asked himself that and he had the horrible feeling that it wouldn't be the last either.

It had started four months ago...

~~~

Giles had been having a drink with Xander because experience suggested it was better drinking with someone who understood than it was drinking alone. And, when it came down to it, Xander seemed to understand. Andrew had been there as well. Not because he understood but, rather, because he never did. Least of all the concept of when he wasn't wanted.

Between Xander and himself they had worked their way through two bottles and twenty years of premium Scottish history. Andrew had been restricted to cider. After the slight incident the first time Andrew had discovered the joys of British spirits (one type having led to the other) he had been banned from anything that had been distilled as well as fermented.

Giles would have liked to curse Xander to the deepest pit of hell for suggesting Andrew drink cider. Unfortunately for his conscience Xander had been honestly horrified to find out (too late) that British cider was alcoholic. Banishing him to a torture dimension would have been too much like a reprieve by that point. Banishing Andrew, however, was half a bottle short of sounding very tempting. At least Xander had kept Andrew mostly occupied while he had tried to drown out Andrew's squeaky whine with the sultry burr of Laphroaig. It must have worked since he was listening to the world through a liquid distortion, his mind floating free of body and cares. It didn't matter that the two younger men were swapping war stories or that his name was being invoked frequently and, just as often, taken in vain. He didn't even react when Ethan's name drifted across to him, wrapped it's arms around him as Ethan had done so many times and complained that his kisses tasted of smoke. The warm cushion that buoyed him kept the usual anger and hurt at a distance, a construct to be studied with interest but not touched. Unlike the memories. They touched him in all the places he hadn't been touched since that last night he has spent with the Chaos mage.

Giles listened with abstracted interest as Xander lurched into a libelous retelling of the "demon incident". The individual words had no meaning for Giles but they ran down his spine with one syllable and cupped his balls with the next as the spirits held him close.

Buffy might not have thought Giles understood her relationship with Spike. In reality the problem had been that he understood it all too well. Souls didn't make everything alright and they didn't mark the boundary between good and evil. Ethan had a soul after all, or had had, and their relationship had still ended in betrayal. Even he had a soul, tattered and frayed though it might be, but that didn't stop Giles wanting... didn't stop him needing... He and Ethan had been too bound together; by friendship, by magic, by sex, by experience. Even after all the time, and everything else, that had passed Giles could still feel Ethan, when drunk enough or lonely enough. The call of his magic.... The needy whimpers and mischievous glances... Hot breath on his skin that warmed a cold night. Temptation, submission and manipulation all in one sweat-soaked reminiscence. Of all his lovers Ethan was the one he least wanted to call to mind, but the one that kept coming back to him.

It had just been luck that none of the children, innocent as they were, had asked too many questions about what had happened that night. It had been Ethan, up to his normal tricks, and that had been all they had needed to know. Ethan and tricks – the two had gone together for as long as Giles had known him. He had just never expected to be numbered as one of them. He tried not to wonder if that night had been paid for - part of whatever contract Ethan had been working on at the time. Was he filed under incidental expenses, each of the acts enumerated and billed for. Did Ethan give discounts for old friends?

Giles had taught Ethan magic so Ethan would have something to sell that wasn't himself. He should have done the world a favour and left Ethan doing the other thing he was so good at. Because he was good at it. Youthful enthusiasm and natural talent had become mind-melting skill over the years. That knowledge was something which annoyed Giles on so many levels that it annoyed him more. Most damning, having found himself numbered among that not-so-select group of Ethan's "clients", Giles wished he could at least remember more of it. Sense-memories, wet-dreams, sudden arousing flashes of recollection... he had pieced together most of it. Enough to keep himself company in the dark and to be embarrassed at the thought of the children finding out.

Giles stared down at the golden depths of his own personal scrying crystal. He just wished...

"But why? Why did he do it?" Andrew's childish inebriation leaked the words into the sotted universe within which Giles had found a home for the evening.

The question had probably been directed at Xander but any sense of direction Giles might have had was long gone so he answered without thinking.

"Because I asked him to."

In the silence that followed Giles heard his own words and the rest of his last night with Ethan came back to him in a vertigo inducing whirl. The Plan. The plan he had suggested. The plan he had come up with at 2am after alcohol and sex made everything he did seem like genius. The plan for him to infiltrate the Initiative and find out what was in Room 314. Giles could hear a meaningless clamour start behind him as he headed for the bathroom at a fast stagger. Dry heaves followed wet ones but still the knowledge stayed stubbornly inside him. He whispered Ethan's name to the pale, porcelain goddess that supported him. God! Their relationship really had ended in betrayal.

~~~

It had taken a month to confirm that Ethan was both alive and no longer in the care of the American military. Almost another to track him down. And then... And then there was a small apocalypse to deal with and the world moved on, as did Ethan. Tracking him the second time proved easier but raised a number of worrying questions about his activities. Looking at the report, Giles uttered the words that would haunt him for the next three weeks: "What the bloody hell is he doing?"

Ethan was on the move almost constantly but there was no sign of any pursuit. Giles would have happily chalked it up to paranoia if it hadn't been for the other thing – the thing that was quickly driving him insane: Ethan would arrive in a new city and spend a few days sampling the night life. As far as the watchers could tell he was keeping a low profile and not making any contacts amongst the demon or magic population. In fact the bars and clubs he hit were almost invariably human-only establishments. That in itself was not suspicious although after the third repeat it became a little... intriguing. No, the thing that was giving Giles grey hair faster than all the slayers put together was that having bar-hopped his way through the best part of a week Ethan would retrace his steps to a select number of venues and cast _something_.

After the first time the use of magic had been sensed (answering one of Giles' many questions about what might have happened to Ethan at the hands of the Initiative) the vast ranks of the Watchers elite researchers had sprung into action. Of course given the state of the Watchers that pretty much meant Andrew, Xander, Willow via computer and whatever slayers they could bully into helping.

Having satisfied themselves that the end of the world was not immediately nigh they had worked their way through all the magic spells and curses they could think of... And had categorically failed to match any of them to what they could discover or sense from the magical residue that lingered after Ethan left.

It wasn't even as if it was exactly the same spell every time. Calls to America and the subsequent enquiries into the demon community both subtle (Willow) and unsubtle (Faith) turned up nothing – no information on contracts, no one needing to sacrifice a barful of drunk and high clubbers or a saloon of ale-soaked ancients complete with dominoes. Not even word on how to get in contact with the reputable Mr Rayne should one want to hire him. In desperation they had even sat back and watched and waited for something to happen. It hadn't. Nothing. Ethan would arrive, do whatever it was he was doing and then move on... and everything would be in exactly the same shape, dimension and state of health after he left. The word under the street was that Ethan had retired for good.

It would have all been totally believable. If only they hadn't known he was up to something.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	2. Chapter 2

Duncan's knees were feeling all their four hundred odd years. It seemed a constant of distance travel that it played hell with some part of your lower body. The form of transport changed and the pained location moved but the discomfort stayed the same.

Duncan sighed gratefully as the bar came into view. It had been a long drive but both Joe and himself had wanted to put in the extra time and get back that much sooner. He wasn't sure what Joe's motives were, hell, he wasn't sure what his motives were. Getting away to the music festival had been exactly what he had needed when he and Joe had left the week before but, now that it was over, Duncan just needed to get home. It wasn't the first all-nighter either of them had pulled but it had been long enough for Duncan to forget exactly why he didn't do it more often, especially when he was the one doing the driving.

The weak morning sun slunk tiredly through the car windows as if it hadn't really wanted to make the effort. _'I'm getting too old for this'_, Duncan thought as he killed the engine. He had felt the need to get away before. Many times. Sometimes he just needed a break from the life he was forced to lead. More recently it had been from who he was. From the things he had done... even from his friends. Too much fighting, too much killing, too much death.... That was definitely the problem this time. Too much Death. _'Damn the man'_, Duncan could feel his teeth clench at the thought. Most of the time Methos acted like a stray cat. He wandered in as if he owned the place, ate the food and shed, metaphorically at least, and then wandered off again before domestication became an issue. Normally Duncan enjoyed his company, at least for some given value of 'enjoyed'. But, just this once, when Duncan really wished the man would take himself back to Tibet or BoraBora or where ever it was Methos vanished to, the old bastard showed no inclination to go away for longer than an few days.

At first Duncan thought it was the way Methos was acting that had bothered him. There had been a gleeful amusement about the man which was definitely new and unsettling. Duncan had never considered himself particularly prone to paranoia but Methos seemed to be successfully infecting everyone within range. Even Joe had admitted to spending more nights than sanity dictated running searches and calling contacts to try and work out what was going on.

Time had passed and, other than Methos growing more supercilious, nothing happened - no new challenges, no worrying revelations, no end of the world. If he hadn't been an Immortal Duncan suspected he would have given himself an ulcer worrying about when the other shoe would drop. Normally he only felt that way when Amanda was around to add her own brand of excitement to his life. At least he understood Amanda, or he could pretend to himself that he understood her, but Methos... every time he thought he might have finally got a handle on the man he found he was holding onto another illusion.

Now the illusions seemed to have gained a life of their own. It didn't help that Duncan could track exactly how he had got to this point. It didn't even help that he could remember the exact second it had started going wrong this time around....

Methos had been slouched in a chair, book in one hand and looking even more unreadable than normal. Duncan had watched him from the kitchen for a while, amazed by the amount of space such a seemingly slight man could occupy. Getting the coffee cups together he had knocked a plate that was draining in the rack. At the noise the shadowed eyes had flicked to him, and then back to the book as he was assessed and dismissed in the same look.

It was hardly the first time Duncan had seen that expression and he knew it was unlikely to be the last time but, for some unknown reason, on that occasion it stirred something buried so deeply inside him that he had long since stopped noting its existence. He wanted, needed, to know what was going on behind that impenetrable facade. Wanted to know which was real - the wide eyed tease or the slit-eyed killer? Wanted to know where the real Methos existed within the evinced cynical pragmatist, loyal friend and genteel sweetheart? This was the man who had lied to him, manipulated him and used him... But who also risked his life for him and to whom Duncan felt connected.

It saddened Duncan that in all probability the only way he would ever really know Methos for sure would be to take his head, and Duncan wasn't convinced even that would do it. Not that Duncan would. Tempting as he liked to think it was sometimes it just wasn't a possibility any more. Killing the version of Methos in his vision had just given him the one truth in a quickening so large it was reality - Methos risking everything to help him. Again. But it still told him nothing about the parts of the man Methos hid from him. Normally Duncan would try and get the truth from the horse's mouth but this was one horse that was guaranteed to meow on the few occasions he wasn't saying nay. And Duncan just wanted to know the truth. For once.

He didn't think he had made any more noise but the sound of his thinking seemed to disturb his friend. Methos once again turned bland eyes from page to man. His gaze caught and Duncan froze as the loft melted into shadows. The comfy chair upon which Methos sat was suddenly wrought iron, the room an echoing industrial complex of concrete and metal. The dim overhead light competed with burning braziers to give the swimming, blue tinted darkness an added air of menace. Duncan knew the place, a damp hell where Each Uisge lured riders with the promise of companionship and a fell hack into oblivion. This was where Death dwelt with his companions - mania, deceit and betrayal.

The only thing that had not changed was that twitch-of-the-lips smile that never touched Methos' eyes and a curiosity about the cause which Duncan was not positive was wholly his own.

'We never raise a blade against each other, isn't that right Methos?' Duncan heard himself ask.

Was it a shared truth that brought amusement to Methos or the lie behind it bringing more?

"You said it." Methos intoned the words, smirking. And it was right that Methos should agree with him or Methos would be the first with a blade caressing the soft skin of his stiff neck. The man thought fast on his feet but Duncan knew he only had one thought when he was on his knees. Maybe that was what made Methos' surrender so sweet. Duncan could feel it now, the power, the glorious destruction, as delicious as it had always been and just waiting for them to reach out and take it up again. He knew Methos could feel it too, just as a fish could feel the line that would reel it in to the waiting net. Methos might twist and struggle but soon he would admit that he didn't really want to break free and give up the pretense. Methos liked being caught and bound and Duncan knew it. Just as Methos knew Duncan was right, that Duncan was always right. He just had to show Methos again which of them knew best and Methos would fall back into his accustomed place; at his right hand or feeling it. Methos would make the sensible choice - he always did. And reminding him of that fact was always so much fun. It was why Duncan had kept him around after so many years, lies and schemes.

_'Oh, my Brother'_ Duncan thought gleefully _'just wait!'_

He was just contemplating all the things he could do to Methos when it occurred to Duncan that they weren't his memories and his voice didn't sound exactly like it normally did. The gloom was gone taking the depressing furniture and everything else with it. Only Methos was left behind. Methos, an unfortunate physical issue and the echo of someone else's thought which was no longer his own. _'My Brother'_. At least the creeps he had given himself, when he had realised what had happened, had rid him of the one easily manageable problem.

After Ahrimon Duncan had really hoped, prayed even, never to start seeing things again. But, somehow, he felt that he shouldn't have been surprised when he did. Still, he could have gone the rest of his life without hearing that voice ring in his ears. Longer. Especially if he was the only one hearing it. Since Methos wasn't currently hightailing it out of the window it seemed a good bet that Duncan had once more drawn the metaphorical short straw for psychic craziness. Or was that psychotic. _'Why was it always him?'_ It was as if some higher power had decided that his life was a source of entertainment and made sure he got thrown a curve ball every time things settled down. _'Not this time'_ he had decided; he was going to take a page out of Methos' book when it came to unforeseen circumstances... Duncan finished making the coffee but otherwise did nothing.

~~~

It hadn't worked.

The strange hallucinations or whatever they were had just grown more frequent until it seemed to Duncan that he spent half his life in a different world. It wasn't enough that he had started living in the past, which was dangerous in itself, but it wasn't his past to live in. This time, at least, he could put a name to the demon that was causing it - Methos. Always Methos and always disturbing half-recollections.

Every action the man made threw out a fractured kaleidoscope of images. Methos picked something up, even something as innocuous as a book, and Duncan saw a sword or javelin in his hand. That had nearly caused an accident and given the game away the first time as he had instinctively reached for his own sword. After that he just watched as Methos turned, stretched and practiced, bared torso gleaming under a bright sun that had never shone on Paris. Those were the easiest visions to deal with. It was just Methos exercising after all and not an unpleasant spectacle even if it was an unusual one. It was the other images that haunted him:

Methos walked in and out of the shadows and Duncan saw the Horseman, blue-faced, fierce and hard from exhilaration. He sprawled on the couch and Duncan saw him lounging on furs, white clothing disheveled as he pleasured himself in the light of a spitting oil lamp. Methos smiled that smug little smirk that he seemed to have perfected and all Duncan could see was the flushed, gasping expression Methos got when you forced the mask from his face with violence or passion or both. Methos tilted his head and gave Duncan _'that'_ look and Duncan knew what it was like to grip long hair that was no longer there and pull the man to him until the evaluating eyes drowned in mindless lust. And he didn't want to even think about what he saw when Methos had a beer. Something the annoying bastard had seemed to be doing more frequently than usual.

Duncan's one consolation in it all was that the trip with Joe had proved that there was nothing wrong with him - so long as he didn't see or think about Methos. That was a cosmic irony. If someone had asked him if not thinking about Methos would be a problem for him he would have laughed. He had not thought about Methos for most of his four hundred years and even after discovering the contrary reality behind the myth he hadn't spent any more time wondering about the old man than he did any other of his friends. Less if anything. Amanda, Connor, Mary... others who now lived only in his memories, it had been a rare day when his thoughts had not turned to one of them but Methos hadn't been someone he had felt the need to worry for. If he was honest, and he always tried to be, Duncan would admit to a few thoughts for Alexa which had included Methos by sheer proximity but that had been about it. And after Alexa... who wouldn't have spared a moment for the grieving Immortal? Especially since he had suddenly transformed, at least temporarily, into something Duncan thought he could understand. But then things had gone back to normal, or as normal as they ever got, and Claudia, Anne or even Rachel was closer to his thoughts than Methos was.

Maybe it was what had happened after that, the double quickening or his taking the head of the vision-Methos, but somehow Methos had just got under his skin while he wasn't paying attention and had stayed there. Now the man wandered into his head with about as much regard for Duncan's desires in the matter as when the physical reality turned up on Duncan's doorstep and made himself at home in Duncan's house. Worse the mental version of Duncan's friend seemed to have decided that Duncan's head was a good pied-à-terre and showed even less inclination to leave than the original model was displaying.

Not for the first time the bone-deep regret over the death of Sean Burns burned him from the inside with Sean's own quickening fire. If ever he needed a psychiatrist... It wasn't just the visions. It was the terrible attraction that they had over him. Even the ones that made his stomach clench and gut churn. The ones which he devoutly prayed were the product of his deranged mind and not something that had actually happened. Maybe especially those ones. He loathed the sick fascination that refused to let them leave his thoughts and invited the reverberations into his dreams. A month ago he had decided that it needed to stop, for the sake of his sheets if nothing else.

He had begun steering clear of Methos and, when that hadn't been enough, escape had become the only option. Escape and the chance to talk to a friend who had seen the visions and the nightmares the last time and would give him an honest opinion of his sanity. It had been one of the main reasons he had gone on the little road trip with Dawson. Not that time with Joe wasn't a good thing in and of itself, and the festival had been great, but he had needed that time away to see whether he was going insane or whether it was just Methos sending him there. Not that either were particularly good options but if anyone could have come up with third possibility it was Joe. Or Methos. But Duncan wasn't ready to discuss this with Methos yet, if ever.

Methos had cleared out pretty quickly the last time. It had been the right thing to do but it meant Methos hadn't been there, hadn't had the visions. He wouldn't understand even that aspect of the problem. And as for the other aspect... Duncan hadn't even told Joe exactly what the visions entailed. That would just have been a bit too much disclosure and the whole thing was embarrassing enough as it was. Going to his Watcher for advice on his life would have given the rest of the organisation a collective coronary if they found out. Not to mention the number of his friends who would have a few choice comments, or guffaws, to make. He trusted Joe not to record the details but there were some things it was really hard to say to a friend. Duncan estimated 'I can't stop thinking about sex with Methos' probably followed a close second to 'there can be only one'.

Duncan was so caught up in his thoughts that getting out of the car and getting his bag from the boot took all of his spare concentration. Really he knew he shouldn't have been driving in his condition, not with Joe in the car, but it wasn't until he heard Joe mutter 'What the hell?' that he realised the state he was in. The windows that stretched across the front of the bar were draped with cloth from the inside obscuring the view.

"You getting some decorating done?" Duncan asked. Knowing the answer from Joe's reaction but too tired to think up anything more intelligent.

"Not that I know about." Joe mused "But the old man did ask if he could borrow the place, I think that would have been for this morning. Maybe he has something planned." Duncan didn't think he sounded at all convinced although he realised Joe was trying for his sake as much as for Joe's own.

Duncan wasn't sure if his worry was as visible as Joe's looked as they stared at each other. Thousands of tortured deaths, hideous disasters and empty stocks were jointly envisioned in an empathic sharing that Jung would have been proud of.

"Shit." Joe commented shortly. Duncan felt that summed everything up rather well.

"I can't sense him." Duncan felt the need to say it even knowing at this range that he probably wouldn't be able to sense anyone inside. It gave him the illusion that he was at least doing something and he needed to do something. Months of disturbed sleep and more disturbed consciousness had left him edgy, frustrated and desperate to take back control of something in his life. Only the leather of his driving gloves was preventing his nails cutting into his palm as his fists clenched to painful tightness. He wanted to feel the solid, grounding weight of his sword hilt under his fingers. Despite the overwhelming itch to hold the deadly blade that was, and was guardian of, his warrior's soul, he resisted. It might be nothing, but even if it wasn't... A sword in the middle of a busy street was not the most subtle of tactics.

"Maybe he went out?" Joe suggested with a tone of disbelieving practicality.

Duncan could hear the hysteria that shadowed the sarcasm in his response and hoped Joe didn't. "What, to get beer?" he scoffed.

"Then maybe he passed out with joy from having all the beer to himself." Joe snapped. Duncan knew he deserved that and resisted the urge to snap right back. It wasn't Joe's fault after all. Joe apparently was having similar thoughts since he shrugged apologetically. "We won't find out standing here."

Duncan clamped down on the fierce joy that the thought brought him. This was action. This was something he could do. And if he was really lucky this was the opportunity to get one over on Methos. That immediately made him feel better about life. Right up until honesty and fear pointed out that to enjoy teasing Methos the old man would have to be alive to be teased. That was the disquieting tendril of worry that wrapped itself around his mind like bindweed and one that Duncan felt was best ignored in favour of more positive theories. For the first time in weeks he had something that he believed down to his core and beyond - Methos was a survivor and, no matter the circumstances, if there was a way to come out the other side alive then Methos would take it. Most of the time that facet his character was a source of contention between them but for once Duncan was glad of that pragmatism. It allowed him the comfort of knowing that it was more likely that Methos had wandered off and left the place a mess for Joe and himself to clear up than it was that something had happened to him.

"The back?" Duncan suggested. He knew that Joe would correctly interpret his reply as understanding of Joe's frustration and his own apology. It was one of the things he liked about the other man, Joe had been around and knew there were times you didn't take things personally.

They casually wandered towards the alley that took them behind the bar. There wasn't much point in trying to sneak and while Joe could walk surprisingly softly when he wanted to he wasn't the stealth type like Methos was. Duncan consoled himself that if it was immortal trouble then they would have all the warning he needed to make sure Joe was safe. If it wasn't then hopefully any trouble would make itself scarce before they got there. Joe had insurance and better the hassle of filing a claim than risking exposure by getting involved in a botched burglary and the unplanned attention of the establishment that that drew.

They were close. The alley embraced the club like a lover and if an Immortal was alive inside Duncan was sure he would know. He didn't know which frightened him more the lack of signature or the unshakeable belief that Methos was inside. Which would mean the old man was dead. Duncan stretched his senses for any sign of a returning quickening. Unless the man had accidentally drowned head down in a beer barrel or impaled himself on a tap or something else which would keep him from healing and reviving then Duncan was sure he would feel something any second. It would be one of the few things that would make up for all of his and Joe's anxiety - that they would be able to niggle Methos about it for the next decade if not longer. Another step and then a tickle, there and gone like a gossamer web blowing on the wind.

"Wait!"

Joe looked at him curiously but otherwise kept his peace. There it was again. Not the dissonant chorus of an immortal but a definite hum. An almost hum. He gestured that they should proceed cautiously. A glance around the corner revealed that the back door was flapping open.

"The old man?" Joe mouthed the words. "He did borrow the keys."

Duncan shook his head.

"He wouldn't be so careless."

The thought 'not if he had a choice' wafted unspoken between them. Methos could be incredibly careless, with other people's houses, drinks and sanities for example, but rarely where his life was concerned and Duncan was suspicious of those occasions where Methos had appeared careless. While others, Methos the main soloist to that chorus, might complain about Duncan own foolhardiness he knew that there was a large difference between carelessness and a carefully judged gamble. He was also willing to bet that the old man knew that too, whether he would admit it or not. Still, Duncan didn't believe, didn't want to believe, that Methos would gamble with Joe's beloved bar without a very good reason. Without a word Duncan slipped his bag against the brick wall where it could wait unmolested. He bit back a comment as Joe did the same with his carryall and drew a gun from somewhere, hefting it along with a challenging look. Begrudging the time that an argument would take Duncan admitted that he wouldn't have won it anyway and gave Joe a sharp nod. At least his Watcher had the sense to let the person who couldn't easily be permanently killed go first.

The rooms at the rear of the bar were gloomy but carried with them a sense of all-welcoming peace that Duncan had not expected to feel given the context. It teased at him and he accepted it into himself, allowing the stillness to permeate his being and welcoming the heavy calm. There was definitely something strange going on but Duncan had more immediate concerns. Curtains blocked out any direct sunlight except that which crept in with them through the door. All the lights were off and Duncan wasn't going to sacrifice surprise for a bit of artificial help. He could sense Joe behind him, a solid presence that he could rely on to guard his back. He waited to allow Joe to catch him up. Duncan didn't believe there was anything that Joe couldn't do if he set his mind to it but moving quietly was a slower and more painstaking activity for the other man than it was for Duncan. They skulked in the corridor for a moment, listening. Two voices swelled to violence and retreated to whispers in a tidal ebb and flow of sound. Duncan strained to catch word or meaning but the sounds were no more comprehensible than the chatter of waves as the gossiped with the shore.

Hoping the Joe would understand the gesture and choose to follow it rather than himself, Duncan motioned that Joe should wait while he moved forward. That done Duncan slid as close as he could to the curtain that served as a divider between the bar and the back. For once he was glad that Joe hadn't given in to all the teasing and fitted doors. The heavy curtain allowed him to observe the room without risking his position.

Three men. Two whom Duncan didn't recognise as they fought and argued incomprehensibly, one of them the source of the almost buzz he had sensed outside. The third... Duncan couldn't see much more than a shadowy shape but his fear defied the lack of evidence to give the mass a name. Methos. Sprawled across the bar, shirt hanging open and very definitely dead. _'Head still attached, please God, head still attached'_ Duncan mentally chanted, half believing that if he repeated the words enough they would be true. All his hope seemed to rest on the fact that while the bar was a bit scuffed up and blood-splattered it definitely didn't look like a major quickening had hit it. Trying to put all thoughts except the present circumstances from his mind Duncan beckoned for Joe to join him. It gave him something to focus on. Methos, half naked and draped over the bar was not something he needed to see. And the fact he was dead wasn't even helping. If anything it was throwing up a whole new range of suggestive projections in which Methos was either dead, dying or reviving.

Duncan resumed peering through the gap in the curtain as the two men began to play fox and hound around the tables. Even with the improved view of the participants Duncan didn't recognise either of them. From Joe's swift intake of breath as the Watcher joined him he guessed some identification was forthcoming. He pulled them both back and away from the doorway not wanting to be seen or heard.

"Rupert!" Joe hissed, surprise warring with the desire to stay quiet.

"You know him?" Duncan demanded.

Joe touched his hand to his left wrist where his Watcher tattoo had been. Duncan understood immediately and fingered his sword. He knew that his little gesture had probably discomforted Joe but he wasn't in the mood to care. He didn't know it it pleased or pained him to see Joe taking a firmer grip on his gun. There had been too many incidents as it was and he was not going to lose Methos as he had lost Darius. And it struck him what the feeling of peace had meant. Holy Ground! Like Darius. Too much like Darius.

"Hunter?" Duncan whispered.

"No way. He is a good guy - we used to jam together at Watcher Basic." Joe shook his head emphatically at the skeptical look Duncan shot him. "He is part of a different branch - not connected with immortals. I'm not sure he even knows they exist. I sure as hell don't know what his branch do - you have to be at least at regional level before you get that titbit. "

Duncan filed that away for the future. Did Methos know? It would be an interesting conversation if he didn't. An even more interesting one if he did. But first they had to get his troublesome butt out of whatever he had got himself into.

"So you help him take the other guy down and I'll get Adam. But keep an eye on him."

The look that Joe gave him was all too eloquent on what Joe thought of Duncan's idea.

"Don't you think that plan would make more sense the other way around. Considering." Joe waved his cane in the vague direction of his legs. Duncan spotted the concealed hurt and embarrassment that the gesture hid. He would have done anything to spare his friend the perceived need to ask for that concession. Legs or no legs, Joe was one of the most able men Duncan had ever known. Unfortunately he knew something Joe didn't.

"I can't." Duncan admitted. The helplessness wrapped him like a winding sheet and he instinctively struggled against the smothering constriction. He didn't know how Methos could stand not acting. Recently and reluctantly he was learning, but it was a strength he didn't have and one he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be able to claim.

"Why the hell not?" Joe hissed. The words cutting through Duncan's melancholy with all the mercy of a sharp edge.

"Do the Watchers know what happens if an immortal attacks a pre-immortal or even a mortal with possibly lethal force on holy ground?"

Joe stared at him with a look of total bewilderment. "No. A mortal - nothing. A pre-immortal... probably nothing"

"_Probably_." Duncan echoed. "Well let's not find out."

Joe double-took and then stared at him.

"I know we joked about the Old Man worshiping beer" Joe choked "but that is ridiculous."

Duncan hadn't even thought of that possibility. It couldn't happen could it? The last time they had teased the old man about his love of alcohol he had had it pointed out to him that for most of Methos' life brewed, fermented or distilled had been the safest thing to drink. A five thousand year old habit was apparently a difficult one to break. Still...

"Ridiculous or not, apparently someone has been worshiping something here."

But what? That was the question that plagued him. And how was Methos involved? Of course that was one of the great mysteries of the universe. Joe leaned around him and risked another look.

"Do you think it had anything to do with why I have a dead immortal on my counter?" Joe asked dryly.

Duncan couldn't bite back the grin. So Joe had come to the same conclusions that Duncan had, that made him feel a little more sure of himself, a little more able to see the funny side of the situation.

"It is Methos... so probably. Let's wake him up and ask him."

The crash of two bodies hitting a stacked table reminded them that Methos was not the only person that they needed to worry about. Without any further discussion they separated, each going to his own task. Duncan could hear Joe shouting for the two men to stop but he had no time for what was going on over the other side of the bar as he cradled Methos' limp form against his.

The shadows painted half of Methos' face blue and for a moment they were on the Steppes, Methos dead in his arms with half his brains decorating a rock. He could feel the memory of the fear and anger that this time Methos wouldn't come back or wouldn't come back whole. That Methos, his survivor, the one he counted on could possibly betray him like this; his lies, strategies and manipulations oozing out of him like curdled whey from a broken urn. Those responsible would die for this, their heads bashed open like his favourite brother's had been. Them and their families and their friends. It would give them something to do to pass the time while the three of them waited for Methos to come back to them...

Duncan told himself that it was the past, someone else's past. That Methos had survived loosing half his brains so he could survive a simple knife to the heart. As if on cue an image of Methos, an ivory and bronze handled knife deep in his chest, slumped down the wall into nothingness. Duncan ground his teeth. No more. This was the only Methos he cared about right now, the flesh and blood reality that he held to himself as a talisman against the spectral doppelgangers of his friend.

A cry of 'no', a gunshot and domino run of crashes were nothing compared to the silence in front of him. The rattle of a breath and the thud of a heart spasming back into life were the only sounds he cared about. He knew it was irrational and didn't give a damn. Irrational was beginning to feel like home. Duncan held his own breath in sympathy until spots danced in front of his eyes and the rushing in his ears threatened to drown out the shiver of a slowly returning presence. He almost dropped the nearly-living body in his hurry to not have Methos wake up in his arms. That would have been... uncomfortable. Duncan did his best to compose his face into what he hoped was an attitude of amused indifference as Methos gasped to life.

"Suni..? Duncan?! Oh Gods!" Duncan didn't think he had seen the old man so off balance since... since ever. It was rather disconcerting. Almost as disconcerting as how fast Methos went from dead to deadly and the sudden but unmistakable press of a weapon against his side. "_Tell_ me you didn't kill him."

Duncan found himself swallowing at the cold edge in those words. It was the sort of voice that belonged to a nightmare mothers warned their children about. Or to someone who could kill a good friend if they thought they had to.

"No. I didn't." He answered as truthfully as he could. He had no idea what had happened or who Methos was talking about but he was fairly sure that for once whatever had happened wasn't his fault.

The hard protrusion that was poking against his side slid away reluctantly only to be replaced by the memory that they were on holy ground. He looked down to find Methos holding a beer bottle and then back at Methos in outrage. The annoying man was paying no attention to him as he scanned the area muttering.

"What is around here somewhere?" Duncan asked.

Methos hardly spared him a glance.

"Bottle opener."

Duncan resisted the urge to see if breaking the bottle over the other man's head was an acceptable substitute.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	3. Chapter 3

_Earlier..._

\---

Giles huddled closer to the wall as the chill wind tried to pick his pocket. Across the street was the now familiar three-quarter, grey wool top-coat with Ethan inside. And, surprise, surprise, another bar. This one biscuit and red with large, shuttered windows and a neon sign that played guitar and boasted "Le Blues Bar". What Ethan was doing here while the place was apparently shut was just another one of those unanswerable question that he was really hoping would be answered soon. Very soon if the surveillance equipment he had brought with him was as good as it was claimed to be.

The equipment might have been good but the the instructions had apparently been written in an obscure and forgotten infernal language and then translated into English via another three by a blind, illiterate dyslexic. Giving up in disgust he put the annoying contraption away and sidled closer to the bar. Heavy material on the inside of the street facing windows prevented him seeing in but a side ally provided cover and a slitted window provided opportunity. Sometimes the old ways were the best.

Ethan's voice. Overly familiar but missing the sarcastic venom that he expected: "Mot? Are you sure? There are better alternatives. Ninkasi worked very well. Sausga, Ninatta and Kulitta - very appropriate. Bacchus? Siduri?"

"No. Definitely Mot" There was amusement in the voice as it insisted. Something about it tugged at Giles - an English accent, sure in it's superiority. It was a voice that called him home but to where he couldn't recall.

"I thought you liked this place?" Ethan - professional curiosity Giles decided. There couldn't be anything else in his voice could there?

"Don't you pay any attention to all the worries about the dangers of alcohol?" The 'Voice' was enthused and happy. "Not to mention all the cigarette smoke. It's perfect!"

"Aren't you worried people will sense the atmosphere? I mean dedicating this place to Death seems a little... morbid."

Giles froze in shock. What were they planning, Ethan and his... Friend? Employer? _Lover?_ a small voice in his head suggested, the two sounded too friendly for the voice to be just another client. The bantering too unprofessional and, from Ethan, too interested.

"It's a blues bar," the almost-known voice pointed out. "It will add to the tone."

Giles found himself holding his breath as the voices paused. His heart pounded in his ears, seconding his lungs' demand for oxygen, but he couldn't make himself take that mouthful of air in irrational dread that the displaced particles would somehow alert the men inside. He really wanted to scream at them to get on with talking so he could get on with listening but he suspected that wouldn't be entirely conducive to his staying undiscovered.

"Besides," Giles mentally offered praises to the man-who-wasn't-Ethan for relieving the silence while at the same time damning both him and Ethan for putting them all in this position. "most people won't notice."

"What about your friend?" Giles couldn't believe his ears - Ethan actually sounded concerned. And about someone other than himself.

"What about him?" Giles could hear the shrug in the studied negligence.

"Won't he notice?" Definite curiosity in Ethan's tone now.

That was also new. Ethan had always claimed a 'don't know, don't want to know' attitude but then Giles had given up believing that this was a normal job about two sentences in. An initiation? That was a distinct possibility. And if that was the case then it had to be stopped. Ethan worshiping Chaos had been bad. Ethan as an devotee of Death was... frightening. Whether or not it was true Giles had always clung to Ethan's squeamishness about directly committing violence as the one redeeming feature that had stopped him taking that step from amoral to immoral. Somehow that personal foible didn't seem to fit with Ethan as a Mage de la Mort.

"He'll notice something. But if he can sense anything specific..." The fond condescension spoke all too clearly of how likely the speaker thought that was of happening "The most he is likely to get will be a sense of peace."

"Final peace." The bite was back in Ethan's voice but the other did not seem to care.

"If I'm wrong I'll improvise but, really, only the old, powerful ones will get the death vibe. And if it creeps them out all the better."

The old and powerful _whats_ \- that was what Giles wanted to know.

_'Just what the bloody hell was he doing?'_ Giles thought worriedly. He had this nasty feeling he might be using that adjective in its literal sense and was beginning to prefer the idea of Ethan joining the bad guys once and for all. That would involve less corpses at least. Probably.

"And what about you?" Giles had been wondering himself about Ethan's collaborator although probably not in quite the way Ethan had meant the question.

"Me?" The 'Voice' had a lead-lined lightness "I've lived with Mot for a long time. He might as well be good for something now."

A priest of Death? Someone with a terminal illness? A demon? Ethan's teacher?

"By sacrificing yourself to him."

Giles froze. They couldn't mean what that sounded like it meant could they?

"I think of it as doing my bit for the community."

"Very Odinic."

"I like to keep up with the modern fads."

"Not hoping for the fabled wisdom and knowledge then?"

"Only the type you find at the bottom of the glass."

The conversation drifted along without him as Giles tried to make sense of what he had just heard.

"If we are going to do this I guess we better get on with it." Ethan's voice pulled him back with a reminder of the immediacy of the problem.

"I put up blinds. We are now out of sight of any curious passersby looking in the window. I did all the required purification before you arrived. I'm not the one stalling here."

"Well you know me - blood was never my colour..."

"You can do this. A swift blow just here - I won't feel a thing. Don't worry, I've done this before."

"I'm glad one of us has. All right. Let's do it..."

That was it, Giles decided. Whatever was going on it needed to be stopped before it got any further. The back door unfortunately had other ideas. Giles cursed his age, Ethan and whoever invented locks as he struggled with the security system as personified by an elderly and slightly rusty mortice. He could hear the chanting, through his fear if not through the door. An infrasonic dissonance that electrified the hairs on the back of his neck and ran cold fingers over his bowels. A part of him still didn't want to believe this of Ethan. He knew what Ethan did... What Ethan was... but human sacrifice? Even apparently willing human sacrifice? That was the point you started losing your soul and Giles really needed to believe that Ethan had his soul because if Ethan still had his then there was a chance that Giles did to. The lock finally gave way before him and he barreled into the rear area of the pub. Abandoning the door to shut or not as it chose, Giles raced death to the bar.

He was too late.

The beer had more body than was generally considered acceptable by trading standards. The body in question was draped over the bar like a slops towel, only lacking the traditional brewery markings to make it fully at home. A dark silver shadow reared like a black cobra from the bared chest. Young, Giles guessed, the face still thankfully hidden from him, but the skin he could see sagged from death alone rather than age. Young and not getting any older thanks to an assassin's knife. There could be many good reasons for carrying a blade, but no one had a custom made stiletto for legitimate use. Even the passing glance that Giles could spare it told him that the vicious thing that nestled in the man's breast had been specially made for it's owner, whoever that was. Giles found himself hoping, irrationally and in the face of all the evidence, that it wasn't Ethan's. He hated having to kill his friends.

The long, ashen arm on the near side of the bar drew his gaze downward as it hung, abandoned and almost comical in its languidness. The scarlet, whore's lips of an artery-deep gash glistened obscenely against powder-pale skin. Even without the presence of the knife Giles knew he was too late to help the man. Blood no longer flowed down and around the red-stained flood plain of the wrist. Even the channels that had run between the crags of stilled fingers to the stagnant, sluggish lake of the floor had dried to cracked beds. Nearby a bulbous rough knapped rock crouched like a vampiric toad. Its single, break-sharpened edge biting into the floor now that flesh was denied it.

Giles could read the signs - a swift stab to the heart and then the wrists opened with an unworked stone blade so that the last pulses of dying blood could be caught and used. A communion of blood for a God older than Christ in an act that was older still. One dead and two souls lost. Hating the dead man and hating himself Giles let the pain and sorrow numb him to a cold rage. A door at the side twitched and parted to reveal the only other person in the building who was still breathing.

Ethan was dressed in silk. It shouldn't have been the first thing Giles noticed but it was. He had always liked Ethan in red, the vibrancy of the colour had suited him, but now, with a man's blood drying from the arterial red of Ethan's shirt to the muddy garnet of Ethan's trousers, it filled him with revulsion. There was more grey in the short hair but the peat brown eyes were the same. Infinitely deep and infinitely shallow. You didn't drown in peat bogs, you suffocated and they swallowed you up and made you part of them.

Giles was moving before the thoughts had been fully processed by his brain. While part of him took in Ethan the rest of him saw nothing but the rough-hewn bowl in Ethan's hands and the splatter pattern the decorated his arms and chest. Congealing blood sloshed over both of them as he grabbed Ethan and slammed him against the nearest wall. Ethan wanted death, Giles would give him death. There may have been pain in Ethan's expression but there was no fear, only amusement.

"Why hello Ripper. Worried I'm stealing your act?"

Giles didn't even think about it. One moment Ethan was smirking at him, the next he was sprawled on the floor the blood from his lip and nose mixing with his victim's. Giles didn't comment on the nickname. It felt right at that moment. He wanted to rip. Wanted to rend and hurt. Wanted to take that pain that Ethan had caused him and give it right back with interest. The dead man was just an excuse, one in a long line of excuses. Ethan lived to give him excuses. If they didn't have that anger and violence between them then little things like right and wrong, duty, morality and a friend's death on your conscience seemed to be of no importance at all. They had kicked drugs together but the only way they had found to kick the addiction they had to each other was to do so literally.

Ethan curled around Giles' foot as it connected with a satisfying jolt. It wasn't enough, wasn't personal enough to satisfy the burning frenzy inside him. He hauled the unresisting man up until they were face to face. He didn't know how much of the blood on Ethan's face was Ethan's own but seeing the red smears across the familiar features stopped him in his tracks. He didn't even resist as Ethan stepped away from him and fastidiously straightened his clothing.

"Feel better now?" Ethan asked sarcastically.

Giles flicked a look at the body. "No."

"Would it help if I told you it was going to be all right in the morning?" There was a seriousness in Ethan's voice that Giles wasn't used to. The teasing lilt was still there but something else as well. If it had been anyone else he would have said it was sorrow.

Whatever it was, it was too much. Giles had thought he had finally dealt with his feelings for Ethan... that Ethan had finally crossed the line so Giles could get on with hating him without loving him. And then that dratted memory forced him realise that all his defenses had been built on sand. He was getting old. They both were. The passion of their youth, the intensity of everything they had shared was all gone leaving Giles wondering what was left. Even the adrenaline of this meeting was fading, leaving him standing in front of a murder and feeling nothing but weariness.

Taking his glasses off Giles rubbed his eyes. It was a gesture he had used so many times when the children had exasperated him and, then as now, he felt all his years like lead weights dragging him down.

"What are you up to Ethan?"

"Redecorating?" The manic was obviously back, mercurial and obnoxious. Giles wanted to forget it all and have a drink but the game was on again. After so many years the two of them fell into their respective parts like actors in a well-rehearsed play. Giles took a step forward as Ethan dodged around a table.

"With dead bodies?" Giles asked pointedly.

Anther step and another table. They were dancing now, moving in partnership, each knowing the moves the other would make. Normally Giles lead the waltz but they had always been flexible in their relationship. He wondered what Ethan had planned.

Ethan was grinning through a cracked red mask. "I'm hoping to audition for Queer Eye for the Dead Guy?"

"What?" Giles halted abruptly letting Ethan put another table between them. Giles didn't think Ethan was close enough to make a break for the front door but another slip like that on his part would do it.

"Really Ripper" Ethan tut-tutted "you must keep up with contemporary culture. It's all the rage in demon circles."

"Some of us don't hang out with demons."

"Just vampires." Somehow Giles wasn't surprised that Ethan knew about that. The calm reasonableness of Ethan's voice suggested that he was going to be anything but. "A rather fine distinction of course but then you were always the master of fine distinctions weren't you."

"At least I made some." The anger was returning. Even knowing that it was what Ethan must want Giles couldn't stop it. The mixed feelings he had always had about working with Angel or Spike and his own guilt guaranteed that he reacted defensively - by going on the attack.

"Just remember" Ethan said cryptically "so do I."

With that Ethan ran. Giles had expected him to head for the door so was caught flat-footed for a moment as Ethan headed back towards the body. Launching himself forward he tackled Ethan around the upper thighs and the pair of them crashed into a table knocking chairs in all directions...

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	4. Chapter 4

Duncan watched speechless as Methos took in the state of the room and all the people within it in one swift glance. He wondered what the old eyes saw - Joe waiting and ready for anything, the gun still in his hand. One man covered in blood and sprawled unmoving on the floor. The other, middle-aged, bespectacled and greying, standing over him, half guarding, half guard, and paying little attention to the rest of the room. A trail of destruction across the bar where tables, chairs and even wall decorations had been sucked into the mayhem and spat out. If Methos' eyes lingered slightly longer on the prone figure it was only until the rise of the chest showed that they did not in fact have a dead body on their hands. Which one was "Suni" Duncan wondered. Methos showed no surprise that he could detect at seeing either of the men or the positions they were in but Duncan was only mostly sure he would have spotted it if it was there. There was no doubting the lack of amusement in his expression though.

"Does someone want to tell me what is going on?" Methos asked with noticeable irritation. The stranger that Joe had identified as Rupert snapped his head around to stare at the old Immortal so fast Duncan was worried he had given himself whiplash. Methos' mouth quirked at some private joke and his tone softened slightly although he didn't stop glaring. "And right after that where my bottle opener has got to... along with my keys."

Recognition. It had been there in a glimmer of unbelievability but Duncan watched it strike home with full force at those final words. Apparently they meant something more to the two men than they did to him. Or to Joe. A quick look in Joe's direction confirmed that he looked equally bemused.

"Yama?" Rupert sounded shocked although not as shocked as Duncan would have expected for someone talking to the recently revivified. It was the shock of meeting rather than the shock of impossibility. Duncan wondered if the man had simply not realised that Methos had been the dead body on the bar only minutes before. Unless Joe was wrong and he knew. Given he obviously knew Methos it seemed possible and, Duncan realised, it had been this man that he had sensed before. Now he was closer the subsonic whisper was fading but identifiable when he concentrated. Not a full immortal, but the potential to become one was there, tingling through the man's... Rupert's... essence like a threat.

"Ripper." Methos acknowledged, hoarfrost crisping a voice which had developed a London guttural.

Duncan's 'Yama?' echoed off Joe's 'Ripper?' as the two words collided. The pre-immortal noticeably winced at the name while Methos just ignored them.

"No one calls me that any more." There was almost a whine under the hastily composed objection. An automatic response but with a hint of unacknowledged regret.

"Suni does." Methos pointed out pedantically. "Are you going to put him somewhere a bit more comfortable for when he wakes up. I assume you didn't do him any permanent damage."

So the unconscious man was Suni. Or had been Suni when Rupert had been Ripper and Methos had been Yama. Was this before or after Joe had known Rupert at Watcher training? 'Ripper' and 'Yama' - not exactly auspicious names especially given Methos' supposedly repudiate past. But neither mortal looked like they were another Kronos. Duncan could feel a migraine starting and Immortals didn't get headaches. At least all the other Immortals he had discussed it with claimed not to. Of course they might never have met Amanda or Methos.

"Yes, well." Rupert glanced at the unconscious man slumped and his and Joe's feet. "_Ethan_ does a lot of things. I'm not Ripper any more. Are you going to give me a hand?"

'Ethan' Duncan noted. Suni was really an Ethan. But did 'Rupert' and 'Ethan' know who 'Yama' really was? There was a reason he had remained Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod all this time and this was it.

Methos shrugged lopsidedly. "And I am not Yama." He smiled a twisted smile. Duncan wondered if this man called Rupert and Ripper got the joke. He wondered if he got all of it himself. Still Duncan wasn't surprised that Methos put down the unopened bottle and wandered around the bar even as he spoke. "Well not any more than you are Ripper."

Kneeling down besides the unconscious man Methos ran efficient but careful hands over him. A slight relaxing was all Duncan needed to know that the examination had gone well. That relief was magnified and projected, albeit in a slightly embarrassed form, from Rupert when he received Methos' nod. Duncan felt a perverse pride that he could read Methos better than Rupert could since he hadn't needed to wait for the nod. With Methos on one side and Rupert on the other, the two men easily lifted Ethan.

"So what do I call you now?" Rupert asked as if this sort of thing happened every day.

Joe stepped aside so that they had a direct path to one of the booths that lined the walls. It must be shock Duncan decided. In a few minutes everything would hit Rupert and they would be hurrying for the sniffer of brandy as the body count rose by another. Actually, Duncan decided, brandy sounded like a damn good idea and he was behind the bar. His eye fell on the line of malts. Even better. It had been a long night, his knees still hurt and his head was aching in support or possibly in protest. Whatever explanation was about to happen, and it would happen, it would be easier after a restorative. And nothing restored like a couple of fingers of good Scotch. A healthy belt was transferred to a nearby glass as he watched Methos and the newcomers and considered.

"Adam Pierson at your service." Methos was saying. That answered one of Duncan's questions at least. There was a glitter in Methos' eye that Duncan recognised only too well and hoped Rupert did too. "At least as long as you have stopped beating up Su..." Methos cocked an eye brow at Rupert across their sagging load. "Ethan." He amended.

It wasn't hard to see the challenge that sparked between the two men, but with it was something else that Duncan could not interpret. They settled Ethan in the padded seat and were rewarded with a faint groan. Methos fussed with the man for a moment but got no further sign of returning consciousness. Not looking too concerned he backed off to watch from a distance. Joe pulled up a chair, Rupert slid into the booth opposite Ethan and Duncan poured himself another drink.

"For now." The man that Joe knew as Rupert and Methos apparently knew as Ripper allowed. He stared at Methos as if all the mysteries of the universe where held within that slender figure. For all his 'just a guy' routine there were times when Duncan thought Methos held them too. Normally they were the times when Methos was at his most irritating. Whatever the answer or lack of it Duncan was really beginning to get fed up with the shared looks that were passing between the two men. Methos didn't have a good track records with friends and, while this one didn't immediately get Duncan's hackles up, being ignored was definitely doing it.

"Ah." Joe coughed, breaking the moment. "The unconscious thing. That was actually me." Joe was worried Duncan realised. Worried and trying to hide it since everyone else was being so blasé. "Shouldn't he have come around by now?"

They all looked at the unconscious man who was being propped up by wall and chair back.

"Give him a few more minutes Joe." Methos assured him "It was a bad bump but I don't think his skull is broken. Ethan has always had a hard head."

"Joe? Joe Dawson?" Rupert stared at Joe for the first time and Duncan readied the whiskey.

Joe grinned. "Rupert Giles." He greeted "or should I be calling you Ripper."

"Don't you start." Giles groaned. "God. I didn't recognise you - it has been so long. The beard suits you." Duncan watched as his face suddenly shifted and he spun around to stare again at Methos. "But you haven't changed at all."

Methos spread his hands but said nothing, waiting. Duncan added another shot to the medicinal scotch he was putting together.

"And not that I mind." Giles continued "But weren't you dead ten minutes ago."

"I got better." Methos offered. Duncan added another hefty belt to the glass. "But" Methos added inexplicably "while it wasn't very warm this morning I did enjoy the walk in the open air to get here. Personally I prefer it a bit more warm and sunny."

"Ah. Well that is alright then." Giles sat up straight as inspiration did something unpleasant with a red-hot poker. He stared with all the horror Duncan had been expecting but at the wrong person. That glare should surely have belonged to Methos but instead it was directed at the one person who was too unconscious to appreciate it. "He knew!"

Duncan wasn't entirely sure who that accusation was aimed at but Methos seemed to know what the man was talking about. Duncan made plans for getting Methos to explain it all to him later. In detail. Since it didn't seem needed and not wanting to waste the drink he had poured, Duncan knocked it back.

"He did." Methos agreed with the man who was now hiding behind his hands and then turned to Joe and Duncan in explanation. "Ethan only kills people who come back from the dead. Or possibly only me." His smile was pure self-satisfaction as if he had won some prize. "And it was an accident the other time."

"I thought you didn't like hanging around with people who got you killed?" Duncan accused. Methos had certainly complained about it enough times. And damn it Duncan was fed up with being ignored. He had been the one who was coming to the rescue after all. He deserved some recognition not just being threatened with a beer bottle and then discarded. Everyone stared at him and he could feel his cheeks heat. But it was true.

"On the whole I don't." Methos was giving him a look which suggested he knew exactly what was going on in Duncan's head. Given what that had included recently that thought made Duncan feel more than a bit uncomfortable. To cover his embarrassment he took another mouthful of Rupert's medicinal drink while Methos was talking. "But a non-permanent death here and there as long as it doesn't become a habit." Methos shrugged "Quick dagger to the heart. Not a bad way to go. Crucification. That's one of the nasty ones. I never liked slow asphyxiation. Too much like drowning."

"You were crucified?" Giles asked curiously.

Methos had that placid look that set warning bells ringing in the minds of anyone who knew him. "Last time I get involved in Middle Eastern politics I'm telling you."

The whiskey made it half-way down Duncan's throat before the words overtook it. Hazel eyes showing nothing but innocent concern met his as he tried to breath through alcohol, swallow air and speak at the same time. He glared instead. It was the only answer he trusted himself to make.

"Adam likes telling stories." Joe growled for him. "Take whatever he says with a mountain of salt."

"All I ask is that you also provide the tequila." Methos agreed with an unrepentant grin "Sourpuss over there normally provides the lemons."

Duncan felt he gave that comment the response it deserved - none. Instead he brought the remains of the Scotch and the necessary glasses over to Joe and Rupert.

"Sorry." Joe seemed to realise that Duncan had missed out on the introductions and that Methos wasn't going to oblige. "Duncan Macleod - Rupert Giles. Rupert Giles - Duncan Macleod."

Both men made the correct noises although Giles looked a little embarrassed as he indicated the silent man who slumped opposite them.

"That is Ethan Rayne." Rain - Sunny. Duncan could see Methos' eyes crinkle in amusement and wondered if he was responsible for that one.

"Is he dangerous?" Joe asked. It was a good question Duncan realised. After all he and Giles had been fighting when they had first arrived and there was still the matter of Methos' temporary murder to get to the bottom of.

Giles said "yes" as Methos said "no".

"You don't know him." Giles insisted in the face of Methos' most stubborn expression.

Methos just looked at him.

"I mean when was the last time..." Giles broke off under the implacable force of that stare.

"When was the last time you did?" Methos asked quietly.

Duncan felt he should be calling out scores. Giles flushed uncomfortably and removed his glasses to clean the lenses. It was clear who had won that exchange but Duncan didn't think Methos relished the victory. Indeed the other man was looking almost as uncomfortable as he had the time he had sidled into the dojo only to find his past had beat him there. As it was Methos seemed very interested in a the area of the floor by his foot as he admitted "Ethan is dangerous." Duncan was caught as the hazel eyes lifted and looked at each of them in turn. "So is Duncan. So is Rupert. So is Joe. Every one in this room is dangerous in their own way. Ethan is dangerous but he isn't a threat." The piercing gaze ended on Giles "Not to anybody here."

Apparently that was good enough for Joe as the man nodded contentedly as if every other one of Methos' friends had been saints. Duncan didn't feel particularly reassured but given no one else was making any objections he felt it would be churlish to mention his doubts. And who was he to say anything when he was having enough trouble not thinking about how Methos had always looked good in white cloth and red blood. Red, white and blue - colours passed down through time to be followed and adored. Instead he deliberately poured drinks for Giles, Joe and himself and pulled up a chair. Only Methos stood, a lone satellite to their cluster. Duncan and Joe sitting as sentry between the two men in the booth and the rest of the world.

"You going senile Macleod" Methos asked waspishly "Or can't you manage to count higher than three."

"I'm sorry." Duncan told him insincerely "Did you want something?"

Given what the old man had put him through, was still putting him through, Duncan felt a little payback was called for even if it was as petty as making Methos get his own alcohol. And it definitely hadn't been for the view of that long, lithe body walking away from him to the bar... Duncan's gaze clambered up runners' sculpted calves to strong thighs that could tame and control any mount Methos rode... navigated over the pert buttocks hidden from everyone else's view by the drape of Methos' shirt... glided along the proud, clean lines of the sinuous back to the temptation of the pale, vulnerable neck. Duncan knew Methos must be able to feel that he was being studied. Even mortals seemed to have a way of knowing when they were being watched but this feeling was ratcheted up to a paranoia radar between immortals. Yet Methos did not make any sign that every instinct that he had must be screaming at him. His cool stride never faltered until he reached the beer bottle that he had abandoned.

A long arm behind the bar to the in-built bottle-opener that Methos had contemptuously ignored earlier and one more foe was beheaded. The silver cap dropped unnoticed on the floor. Only then did Methos turn and look back at them all, pouring himself over the barstool as a beer chaser.

Duncan swallowed as the long legs fell open into their natural spread state. He hoped neither Joe nor Giles had noticed how much he was staring. The only saving grace, if there was one, was that it sounded to Duncan as if the two Watchers were too busy renewing their relationship to worry about the little floor show Methos was unwittingly putting on. Or Duncan's reaction to it. If nothing else, his like for Ethan was increasing just because the man was not awake to witness Duncan's humiliation.

Maybe Methos did knew the effect he had on him, Duncan fretted. Did he always seduce beer rather than drink it? The keg should have been demanding to know Methos' intentions and just how dishonorable they were? He would, after all, use that bottle until it had nothing more left to give and then callously chuck it away for another. Duncan decided he was reading too much into the simple act of drinking. But what an act.

Duncan watched as the bottle rested between damp, pink lips, balancing for a moment before tipping back, the rim slipping passed the pursed seal. The long throat worked to swallow the bitter fluid down. Bottle became bowl became amphora. Lips gripped glass and clay and finally flesh as the image swam in time. Methos on his knees, throat taut and offered up to the blade that waited on his shoulder as he sucked a bound man. The survivor doing anything to survive. So beautiful and powerful in his submission. Torture and torturer as he drove Kronos' prisoner mad with unwanted pleasure from the people who had killed his family. The memories shifted again... Methos kneeling in front of him. He needed no sword now to control that wicked mouth. It had been too long between raids and there were no new slaves to peak his interest but his brother could always be relied upon for an entertaining diversion. Duncan fought away the ghostly mouth that had wrapped itself, warm and wet around his cock. Dragging himself back to Joe, Giles and the present Duncan did his best to will away the erection that was not so much threatening as sending in the enforcers.

Uncaring and oblivious, Methos lounged more than the laws of nature suggested that you could given the hard stool upon which he perched. It was only when one arm draped restlessly on the bar that the congenial scene was spoiled by a loud tsk. With a look of distaste clear on his face Methos examined the sleeve of his shirt which had found one of the less savory sticky pools that congealed on the bar top. Looking up from his fussing Methos seemed to realise that he was, once again, the centre of attention. He shook the sleeve out deliberately and a few splatters of _something_ anointed previously uncontaminated floor.

"You know Joe" Methos observed helpfully "this place is a mess. You should get the cleaners in more often."

Duncan could see Joe clamping down on his first three instinctive reactions.

"I don't need to hire cleaners" Joe's slightly malicious smiled suggested he was really going to enjoy what happened next. "since I have you to do it."

"Why me?" Methos objected.

_'Why me?'_ When it came to hurt innocence Duncan had to concede that Methos really was the master. Amanda had pulled some doozies but none that came close. _'Who is this, Macleod?'_ Duncan bit back his own grin. _'No Macleod I haven't seen your jumper'_. Joe wasn't going to be the only one who enjoyed this. _'The world was different. I was different'_.

"It's your blood isn't it?" Joe pointed out logically.

Methos looked scandalised. "It wasn't my idea to go throwing it around the room. I was _dead_." In Duncan's opinion Methos deserved an Oscar for the sheer amount of wounded dignity he managed to inject into those last three words.

Joe, however, appeared unmoved by the appeal.

"You asked to use the place. You decided to play human sacrifice. You leave the place as you would want to find it. Which I am assuming is not blood splattered? I have to open this afternoon."

It was definitely Adam Pierson who sulked "You can be a real grouch sometimes, you know that?"

"Flattery will get you no where. The cleaning stuff in in the back." Duncan could feel the smirk escaping and gave into it as Methos slid grumbling from his seat. Unfortunately Joe wasn't through. "And the rest of you are helping him! I'll even get you the special breakages broom." With that Joe hauled himself to his feet.

The sound of Methos' snickering was clearly audible even as he followed Joe's directions into the rear of the pub for the rest of the supplies.

"What did we do?" Duncan demanded of Joe's back. It wasn't his fault after all. And for once it really wasn't. It was something of a new experience and one Duncan wanted to enjoy for a while longer. Not to mention the chance of being able to sit and watch Methos clean up.

"You mean _other_ than interrupt and nearly ruin everything?"Methos sniped from behind the curtain.

Duncan wasn't sure if that was aimed at him or not but habit and lack of sleep returned fire before Duncan thought to question at whom the shot was launched.

"You were doing a good impression of a pin cushion and there was blood everywhere. What was I supposed to think?" Duncan snapped, stung.

A mop poked its head into the room followed by Methos loaded down with buckets, dustpans and clothes.

"How about: 'oh gosh, I am standing on holy ground - how did that happen?' Here be useful for once and go fill this bucket with water."

"You are a pain in the arse you know that!" Duncan snapped irritated and somehow on his feet and moving towards Methos.

"Oh he isn't. He is really rather good." A dazed voice interrupted them.

The cleaning equipment clattered to the floor as Methos sprang back to the booth and Ethan. The rest of them just stared at Ethan who regarded them all groggily.

"Ethan?" Giles asked quietly. He lent across the table to put his hand of Ethan's arm, Duncan couldn't decide if the man was trying to get Ethan's attention or reassure himself that the man he had been fighting with was alright. Duncan wondered if he was the only one who thought it was a slightly odd thing to do, Methos certainly didn't look surprised but that meant very little. One of Joe's eyebrows was threatening to take flight which made Duncan feel slightly less alone in this confusion. Ethan ignored the touch but he did look over at the other man.

"Hello Ripper, dear. Shouldn't you be off molesting young girls somewhere."

Duncan choked but Giles just smiled as if the sarcastic greeting told him all was right with the world. Methos, too, seemed happier now his patient had woken as predicted.

"Gave it up for lent." Giles assured Ethan as the other man tried to bat Methos' hands away from their examination of his skull.

No one pointed out that it was closer to Halloween than Easter.

"That's nice." Ethan peered over Methos' shoulder at the other inhabitants of the room as Methos tried to check his pupils. "I'm guessing the unamused looking gentleman brandishing the broom must be Joe because I know _you_" he eyed Duncan in a way that reminded Duncan of a certain old immortal of his acquaintance who wasn't standing very far from him "must be Duncan..."

"MacLeod of the clan MacLeod" Methos interrupted sourly taking Ethan's pulse "Yes, that's him. Now moving right along. Are you feeling at all dizzy?"

A look passed between the two men and Ethan smirked. Duncan thought Methos' eyes seem to close for a moment it what he thought might be resignation and then Methos dropped Ethan's wrist and walked away from the group and Duncan found himself caught and held by a pair of dark, ophidian eyes in a blood-caked face.

"You should treat him better you know." Ethan started happily "I mean being practically married and everything." It was Joe that choked that time. Duncan found he didn't have the ability to do anything other than stare at the strange man. "It isn't like a _Sanguineous Animantic_ ritual happens every day, or even every year." It was Rupert's turn to try and swallow air. Ethan seemed to think about it for a moment, finally breaking the hypnotic link between then to glance at the recovering Giles as if requesting confirmation. "I don't think there has been more that one other one in the last century. It is finding the willing sacrifice that does it." Ethan let his words hang in the air for a minute as he looked around at his audience. "And do I want to know who knocked me out or shall I randomly get revenge on people until I get it right?"

There was a muffled noise from the corner which may have been a laugh or may have been something else, Duncan wasn't sure. Methos had apparently wandered as far as the bar and was helping himself to something, his back studiously turned to the group. Still, his mutter of "Apparently I'm not the only one who likes to tell tales" could be clearly heard.

"I think that would have been me I'm afraid" Joe admitted, ignoring Methos. "Or at least the drinks board. We dislodged it - it dislodged you."

"Better than being shot" Ethan allowed "Which I seem to remember was the other possibility at the time." Out of the corner of his eye Duncan saw Methos' head whip around to stare at them with more than a hint of violence in his posture. Even as Duncan prepared to intervene Methos stopped, deliberately relaxed and turned back to the bar. Taking that as his cue Duncan turned his attention back to what Ethan was saying. "In which case I will forgive you in return for a pint of Old Peculiar..." The smirk was worryingly familiar, " -- why does that sound like someone I know?-- and a pass on the cleaning duty. Really you should make Ripper here do it. He is the one that made all the mess. And he is very good at cleaning up."

Years of practice being around Methos apparently allowed Joe to keep his face straight as he headed to the bar. He ceremonially handed the brush he had been carrying to the oldest Immortal who looked at it as if he had never seen one before.

"A bit of negotiation might be required." Joe admitted as he cast an eye over the taps. "From the sounds of things you've had the only Old Peculiar we have here." The slight flush that was visible above the beard suggested to Duncan that Joe hadn't actually intended to say that last bit. It had just slipped out, which was somehow appropriate given the context.

"Hey!" Methos objected to the bristles he appeared to be failing to intimidate. "Ripper isn't that old."

"And the floor isn't sweeping itself." Joe interrupted. Methos humphed but Duncan could see the pleased air he huddled to himself. Duncan tried to think back - was it really the first time that the breadth of Methos' five thousand years of sexual experience had been broached as a subject. Given the periods that Methos had lived through Duncan had just assumed... and with the visions. He suspected the Joe had come to similar conclusion although without the benefit of the picture show. It made him even more glad he had not shared too many details. That would have inevitably led to thoughts that he didn't want to have and definitely didn't want Joe to have on his behalf.

Feeling the need for a few moments to himself Duncan went to fill the mop bucket.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	5. Chapter 5

"So how do you guys know each other?" Duncan heard Joe ask as the cleaning effort began to wind down.

Duncan wasn't sure he liked the smile on Methos' face. Somehow Methos had ended up polishing the bar, a job which apparently required sitting down and minimal physical labour. Ethan was helping him by pointing out spots he had missed and creating damp-rings where he kept 'forgetting' to put his mug of tea down on the beermats. Duncan suspected that the deliberate amnesia might have had a lot to do with Methos having muttered something about concussion to Joe and thus nixed Ethan's chance of getting anything alcoholic. Luckily the still blood-caked man was willing to trade his forgiveness of Joe for 'a nice cuppa' as he had put it.

"Fishing for the journal's Joe?" Methos swiped at some imperfection only he could see and then grin flashed impossibly wider. Nodding at Ethan he informed Joe seriously: "I bought him."

"What?!" Duncan squawked. The memories crowded around like the dust of the market place. The hot sun laying siege to the morning's coolness and his fingers sticky from the sweet dates he had eaten. Animals, some human, were corralled and displayed. The air stank of fear and manure, baked and served up for the buyers pleasure. He watched his brother run interrogatory fingers over some of the more promising offerings. A white mare. A dark-eyed boy. A nondescript mouse-y thing that was probably female. A family sold to pay their debts. A rather pretty bay with intelligent eyes and white socks. A scrawny, stick of a man who didn't look like he would be good for anything even the bed chamber. He didn't know why Methos bothered buying slaves - it wasn't like they couldn't take or breed more but whenever he mentioned it his brother would start on about economies and trade practices and information. Normally that was a good time to go on another raid - a few injuries were less painful to bear and didn't last so long. He snorted as Methos started haggling. The twig masquerading as a slave? Why couldn't Methos have gone for the red-haired whore like a normal man? At least then they could all have had some fun. Well that was his dear brother. But if Methos was going to get himself a toy then it was time to see if he could be persuaded into getting the bay as well...

"Hired?" Methos tried, bringing Duncan back from the desert. "Rented?"

Joe was giving Methos his standard 'I am not buying this' expression. It was one Duncan had seen many times although he liked to think it was more often directed at Methos than himself.

"Contracted." Ethan suggested straight-faced.

Giles rolled his eyes from where he was sweeping the floor "Leased?" He offered with only a touch of sarcasm.

The tone was apparently lost as Ethan gave him a teasing glare and sweetly queried "Was that leased or leashed?"

Ethan's look was returned without the humour. Duncan could have sworn Giles muttered "I wish."

In response Joe swaggered over to the beer cabinet and, having retrieved one of Methos' favourite brand, he dangled the chilled bottle between his fingers. Methos eyed the bottle wearily, knowing a bribe when he saw one and apparently trying to decide if it was worth holding out for more.

"I'm not that cheap you know." Methos informed Joe haughtily.

Joe smirked "I'll just put it back then."

Methos' shrug was a study in nonchalance.

"Joe just give him the beer." Duncan snapped. He didn't have time for any more games today. Maybe when he had had a good nights sleep, if that was possible these days, but not now. He could feel his two friends exchanging looks about his shortness of temper but he concentrated on the floor at his feet. It was quite an impressive pile of dust that he had manage to collect. And much more interesting that it might have seemed to any of the others. He risked looking up to find that Methos and Joe had finished their silent conference and had decided to pretend Duncan hadn't spoken.

Joe waved the beer slowly, grinning at Methos' horrified expression at the treatment of such a noble beverage. With every show of reluctance Methos held out his hand for the bottle. A quick glance showed him that Ethan and Giles were watching with amusement but apparently taking their cues from Methos in terms of how much to reveal about their shared past. Those two still bothered Duncan. Whatever friendship had lead to Giles' concern earlier it was gone leaving a palpable tension between them. Except for a few biting comments they had hardly spoken too each other, Ethan having found refuge with Methos at the bar and Giles dedicating himself first to the mop and then to Joe in the other corner of the room. Watcher's talk they claimed but Duncan had seen the 'Celtic' coffees they had taken with them. Duncan didn't begrudge Joe the chance to catch up with an old friend but it irked that Methos cleaning up had somehow ended up as Duncan cleaning up. Irksome but hardly surprising. In fact totally in character as was the look of glee as Methos pretended to hoard the beer.

"Spill."Joe ordered, ignoring Methos' faux-shocked look as he leaned against the bar and looked sternly at him.

On any other day Duncan would have enjoyed the verbal sparring between the two but the day already seemed incalculably long and it wasn't even noon. Slowly and with undue ceremony Methos came out from behind the bar and sank into a chair. Joe settled himself more firmly at the bar, going so far as to start polishing and setting up glasses. Duncan suspected it wasn't luck that put Methos close to the stage and in the most advantageous position to face the crowd.

Finally comfortable Methos took that first bittersweet sip of his beer in ritual preparation. It had always been like that Duncan remembered. The teller of tales would wet his throat with the first draft because the first fruits belonged to the gods and the storyteller had been their link to the gods even before men had started nominating themselves as the Gods' voices on earth. He didn't believe in gods but he liked the stories and he like the way his brother told them. Methos would recite the words that had been passed down to them while the fire and night both painted him with their own colours. Claiming and consuming until Methos merged with both and it seemed as if it was the flames themselves that spoke in the darkness. Such pretty lies and his brother told them so well. In his more frivolous moments he had burnt villages just to watch the those flames dance and to listen for Methos' voice in the crackling, screaming blaze.

"It wasn't raining." Methos began. "It had been for about two weeks but the gods had finally decided not to bother with the second flood, which having lived through the first one was a relief. It was probably the one day of summer London saw that year. I had been seriously considering moving to warmer climes and the one hot day I was stuck inside working until late."

Ethan smiled at the memories that Methos' words were producing but Duncan could see pain on Giles' face. Was that another burden to lay at Methos' door? Duncan hoped not. It was unfair really. Methos had caused less trouble than any of his other friends and had saved his neck more than a few times. It was the damned visions. He was having trouble separating the Methos-who-is with the Methos-who-was and he kept expecting another of Methos' victims to pop out of the woodwork and demand justice.

"Get on with it Adam. Some of us don't have centuries." Joe was normally amused by Methos' rambling, epic style but apparently it was not one of those times. Duncan wondered if he had also spotted the embarrassed withdrawal from the other Watcher.

"And some people have no sense of drama." Methos complained. An odd look froze his face for a second as if he had just bitten down on something that unexpectedly wriggled. Then his expression cleared an he began again. "I had a music shop back then. 'Take Note' was the official name but everyone used to call it 'Toke'. During the day it was alternate rock and joss sticks. In the evening we hosted meetings for various groups." The lips quirked "That always seemed to involve joss sticks too for some reason. Anyway that night we had been open late for something. Poetry reading, political rally, meditation session - can't remember which now. I was walking home in the early hours and I saw a small disagreement between a talking baboon, which was an unusual thing to see in itself, and a young man wearing too much glitter and not enough of anything else." Ethan snorted. "The baboon was, rather loudly and rudely, demanding rent..."

"Which was rich since we were squatting" Ethan interposed acidly. "Of course everyone else had fucked off. It wasn't my fault the weather had dampened a lot more things than the gutters and I didn't have the money. I did suggest we worked something out" Ethan shrugged helplessly "but he took it the wrong way."

"I'm surprised you didn't take the scenic route?" Duncan nettled Methos. "That almost sounds like getting involved."

For all Methos' lectures about not getting involved and walking away it sometimes seemed to Duncan that he was the only person about whom Methos practiced what he preached with such vehemence. Oh he made himself scarce when an unknown immortal came within range but he stepped up to the lists when he chose, just not necessarily rallying to Duncan's banner when wanted. Or at least when Duncan wanted. When it suited himself Methos was quite happy to unfurl Duncan's standard.

"I probably wouldn't have" Methos admitted unashamedly "except the young man started swearing at the over-sized simian in very badly accented ancient Sumarian."

"He hit me." Ethan objected.

"That is no excuse for a bad accent. To cut a long story short," Methos ignored the comments of 'finally' "I paid the rent and discovered I had hired the young man for two days." There was the hint of payback in his innocent tone. "No marks but everything else went as I recall."

If the final comment was meant to embarrass then it fell wide of its intended mark.

"Adam!" Joe finally sounded slightly shocked.

Methos looked at him with guileless eyes. "What?"

"You didn't!" From his tone Duncan wasn't sure if Joe wanted to be reassured that Methos hadn't or scandalised that he had. Duncan wasn't even sure himself whether he was hoping for amused confirmation or laughing denial.

"He most certainly did." Ethan staunchly backed Methos up. "I was so sore afterwards..." Ethan held their horrified attention for a long moment. "Two bloody days of shifting boxes around his shop. If I wanted to be a shop assistant I could have been stacking shelves at Woolies."

Joe gawked between the pair of them as they laughed at his expression. "I can see why you two get along." He grumbled, recognising gamely that he had been had and not minding.

The smiles that met his comment were eerily identical and fundamentally worrying.

"It fulfilled the criteria you laid down" Methos pointed out to Ethan pedantically, "and I needed help in the shop more than I needed to run the risk of being pulled in for statutory rape. It was a perfect plan."

Pleased with himself Methos took a long drag on the beer bottle. Duncan shivered and tried to ignore the sympathetic pull he could feel on his own skin.

Joe regraded Methos and Ethan with curiosity. "So what went wrong?"

"Not that I was still in good old Blighty then but I think it was electing Thatcher in '79" Ethan offered. "The seventies just weren't the same after that. Changed their name soon after and everything. And as for the country..." He gave a little grimace.

"What makes you think something went wrong?" Methos looked hurt.

"Call it a wild stab in the dark." Duncan suggested dryly.

Ethan and Methos looked at each other but neither spoke.

"Me" Giles admitted, finally joining in the story. "I was squatting with Ethan at the time but had been out of town with my band. I got back to find that the rent had been paid by a stranger with, I was informed in no uncertain detail, unhealthy interests. I tracked them down, we discussed it and resolved the misunderstanding."

"Or in other words we finally managed to convince him that Y... Adam wasn't getting the most out of what he paid for." Giles having spoken appeared to have removed whatever impediment Ethan and Methos had imposed on themselves. "Ripper could be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud about some things." Ethan confided.

Duncan thought he was with Giles on that one. How the others could be so blasé about what Methos and Ethan was implying he just couldn't understand. He was half convinced that this was part of some strange joke that Methos was playing on him. Some test to see how they, how he, would react before Methos revealed he had spent a century as a temple prostitute or something. He wouldn't put it past the old man. He wouldn't put anything passed the old man these days.

"So what made the difference?" Joe asked Giles sympathetically as he eyed the not-so-slandered Immortal.

"Heaven forfend that it should actually be that I wasn't fucking him." Methos muttered over his breath.

Giles and Ethan both shot him a look that said "Then" all too clearly. It was met with a raised eyebrow and a smug twitch.

"It was a great music shop." Giles said grudgingly "and Adam had some good contacts in the clubs."

Ethan started laughing again. "After all that, and all the grief you gave me, you sold my arse out to get gigs."

"Well it was the only way I could get you to learn m..." Giles stopped as if he suddenly realised it wasn't a private argument. "Another trade." He finished.

Joe shock his head in mock despair at Methos who slouched smugly in return.

"So this is how you spent your life. Hanging around with unsavory types and picking up underage boys"

"I was nearly twenty-one" Ethan protested.

Giles twitched as if he wanted to object, possibly physically, but he remained quiet. Duncan wondered what he thought of it all. He seemed to have taken Methos' return from the grave in his stride, indeed more comfortably that a lot of the Watchers that Duncan knew would have done. Of all the strangenesses of the morning it was his old friend who appeared to disconcert Giles the most. Old friend and maybe current antagonist Duncan mused, they were the ones that were hardest to deal with.

Joe sighed "I'm beginning to think you might be a bad influence on the children Adam."

He remembered how he had felt when Methos had gone back to Kronos and even afterwards when their relationship was so splintered he wasn't sure it could ever be repaired. How would he have felt if he and Methos had accidentally got tangled up in some similar situation then? Yes, Duncan could understand the confliction that Giles seemed to be feeling. It occurred to him that maybe he owed Keene a very big thank you. And the next time she visited he would let Amanda 'steal' his credit card. If Amanda hadn't forced Methos back into his life... well admittedly he wouldn't be having the problems he was now, but he would also be dead. Alive and going slowly insane or a brief footnote in Watcher history. What a choice! Duncan was cheered from that depressing thought by seeing Methos spew beer.

"Mind the floor." Joe chided "Duncan just cleaned there."

Methos glared at him balefully but to no effect. "Waste of good beer." He declared mournfully.

If Methos was hoping to guilt Joe into giving him another beer then he was disappointed.

"You should learn to hold your drink better then shouldn't you." Joe retorted "You have had long enough to practice."

"Yes, Yama. It is always polite to swallow." Ethan reminded him maliciously.

It was probably lucky that Methos wasn't taking another drink at the time or the floor would have been truly basted. Giles coughed harshly in objection, whether at the use of the name or the _entendre_ Duncan wasn't sure. Ethan ignored him but Joe didn't.

"You really spent the seventies hanging around with these guys?" Methos looked insulted at the amazement in Joe's tone. Giles just looked slightly embarrassed.

"_Adam_" Ethan rolled his eyes as he said the name "wasn't really one of our gang. He was more the cool adult whose place we could hang out in. And because he had a music store he had all the best new tracks."

Duncan thought Methos looked annoyingly smug about having been the 'cool adult'. Joe just looked thoughtful.

"I do have one question for you Adam."

"Only one?" Methos cocked an eyebrow.

"For now." Joe allowed. "Yama?"

Methos shrugged. "It was the seventies. We all had silly names. And Eastern was in. It was better than 'the guy who runs the Toke'. Ask 'Ripper' over there. I think it was his idea?"

"It's sanskrit." Giles muttered "It means restraint. We did a... it just came to me one day."

It wasn't the only thing it meant and Duncan wondered if Giles did not know or was just conveniently ignoring it's other meaning. Yama - first man and God of Death. Methos had probably laughed himself halfway to his namesake over that one. From Yama to Adam... As always it was a small step for Methos as he slid seamlessly from Death to one who had given in to the temptation for knowledge. Duncan kept his thoughts to himself not ready to share them with these strangers no matter how friendly they seemed or how well they knew Joe and Methos. He would discuss it with Joe another time when it was just them and the long journey or the dark of the night.

Joe chuckled. "Now that I can see." He grinned at Giles and Ethan "Was he this much of a lazy son-of-a-bitch then too?"

Methos' 'hey!' was lost as Ethan choked quietly, trying to smother his giggle before the mouthful of liquid he had just imbibed smothered him. "Or there is that meaning as well." He agreed having won the battle.

Methos snickered, the carefree grin that Duncan saw so seldom creasing his face. "Good days."

Duncan could feel his face heating up as all the implications sunk in.

"Better nights." Ethan purred.

Not wanting to think about it any more Duncan was about to object when Giles beat him to it.

"Would you two cut it out!"

"What is the matter _Ripper_? Don't like to be reminded of a time when you actually allowed yourself to have fun."

"I have fun." Giles responded with ruffled defensiveness.

Neither Ethan nor Methos looked convinced. Duncan found himself sympathising even more with Giles. It was not something he normally felt about any Watcher other than Joe. Maybe it was the alliance that Methos and Ethan seemed to have against him or just the feeling that Giles was his sort of person. Or just the fact that he could see himself in Giles place with worrying ease. He wondered if Giles had ever had problems with worrying visions of his friend's misdeeds plaguing him. At least Joe seemed to be taking Giles' side as much as he ever took sides.

"Really?" Ethan sneered "Because from where I'm sitting you would have to take that Watcher-issue pole out of your arse first."

"I seem to recall..." Methos began but stopped when Ethan looked at him. Duncan wished he knew what was going on with those two, beyond the obvious. Whatever the secret was of stopping Methos in mid-flow he wanted to know it. One that could be used in polite company rather than any of the various methods that his subconscious bubbled up as suggestions.

"At the risk of giving myself splinters when I sit down" Joe commented dryly. "Perhaps a change of subject is called for. Like what the hell was going on earlier?"

Ethan glanced at Methos before he spoke. "I sanctified the bar. Congratulations - you now serve holy spirits. I am surprised Duncan didn't tell you."

"He mentioned it." Joe allowed. He glared at Methos "Was the human sacrifice really necessary?"

Methos gave him a 'who me?' expression. Duncan found it hard to believe, despite the current evidence to the contrary, that Methos had the audacity to try and claim innocence on that one. It had his sticky, red fingerprints all over it.

"What about the other bars?" Giles ground out.

"What other bars?" It always amazed Duncan how different people could say the same words in totally different ways. Duncan hadn't known Ethan long but if those words had been the only thing Duncan had heard him say Duncan wouldn't have trusted him an inch. Joe he knew, if not well, then at least well enough to hear the timbre of a slighted mistress in his question. And Methos who didn't say a word yet somehow his was the loudest response. Not so much 'gracious silence' as 'gracious irritation'.

Duncan could only empathise with Giles' annoyance. "All the _other_ bars."

"Fine." Ethan glared at him. "They were all consecrated too. My little case of incarceration. Yama got me out. It seemed a good way to say thank you."

Duncan still found it hard to believe that the man who claimed to never be bothered by such failings as guilt and embarrassment could still 'do' cute and bashful whenever he wanted. As evidenced by the way Methos developed a slight flush on his neck and cheeks and started a sudden and in-depth investigation of his drink. Even Methos' body language had gone into full 'harmless researcher, nothing to see here' mode. Every time he did it Duncan had the urge to start timing him and see how long he could keep it going for. Duncan didn't doubt that he had kept up the act beautifully for all those years he was a watcher but those days were gone and the amusement of getting under Duncan's skin seemed to be too much of a temptation for Methos to resist for very long.

"If you had looked beyond your lists of curses" Ethan accused "then you would have been able to detect that very easily. Of course it didn't occur to you that it might not be something bad did it?"

"He isn't Yama now."Giles corrected defensively and more than a little irrelevantly. A guilty flush highlighted his sudden pallor and giving veracity to Ethan's accusation.

Ethan's gaze slipped far away for a moment and not, Duncan thought, to a very nice place.

"He was that day." The words were blood-soaked dry, a veteran's whisper of his last battle. Ethan, at least, knew the other meaning to the name Giles had given Methos and, Duncan suspected, also knew how fitting that name was.

That explained why Methos was doing his best to look harmless. Duncan tried not to second-guess why Methos had done what he had done. Tried to withhold any judgment until he knew the facts but Duncan couldn't stop staring at the other Immortal and he knew that Methos could sense it.

"I needed Ethan's opinion on something important." Cornered Methos met Duncan's eyes defiantly. "They were less than polite in their response to my visitation request."

Duncan wanted to ask. To ask when. To ask why. A small, bitter portion of him wanted to demand what had made this man so important that Methos was willing to embrace Death to help him when he wouldn't stand by Duncan when he had needed him the most. Yes, he had told Joe to get away from him but he had been selfishly glad when Joe had told him what he thought of that idea.

"It must have been something very important." Duncan said quietly.

Methos didn't even blink. "It was."

Amazingly Duncan found that with that he was content.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	6. Chapter 6

Joe looked around his bar and wondered which, of the many deities that the oldest Immortal had seen worshiped in his long life, Joe had pissed off to get him in this situation. And which the wonderful, irritating bastard had dedicated _his_ bar to. Given the form that the consecration ceremony had taken Joe had a sneaking suspicion that it was one of those things he didn't want to know. Or maybe it had been the amused challenge in Methos' eyes whenever he looked at him.

Methos was acting altogether too pleased with himself, despite the chaos that had been caused and the worry Joe had seen Methos hiding for this Ethan guy. At least someone was happy Joe mused. Duncan had been acting like a bear with a sore head all morning, or possibly just a Highlander who hadn't got a decent nights sleep for goodness knew how long and hadn't had any rest the night before. In an ideal world that morning would have involved them both catching up on their beauty-sleep, he certainly needed it even if Duncan didn't. Instead they were both caught up one another of the old man's mechanisms. If he had just told Joe what he was planning... well okay he had told him, but told him in a way that Joe wouldn't believe he was having another one of his jokes. They were going to have a long chat sometime in the near future... if there was anything left of Methos after Duncan got through with him. Playing the odds Joe made another pot of coffee as he listened.

Rupert Giles. Joe still couldn't believe it. It had been... it had been too long. Who had known that the studious, even stuffy man who only came alive when he had a guitar in his hands had been hiding something like this in his past? Not any of the other Watchers in their basic training group, that was for sure. However, Joe had to admit it explained a few things. At the time he had assumed that the very British airs and avoidance of social situations had been a shield against shyness. Callow youth that he had been and still bitterly struggling to cope with his disabilities despite the years of unending rehabilitation, Joe had marked that here was another soul desperately fighting to make his life worth continuing. It had been as if there was something missing in in the other man, not physical but as much a part of the whole as his legs had been to him. Joe had been too busy with his own pain to do anything as the other man desperately patched over the hole with safe, dry books. He hadn't realised just how soul-deep and soul-dark that hole had been, not that he could, or would, have done anything even if he had known.

Joe had spent over a year fighting to be allowed on the field agents training course and it was taking everything he had to stay on it despite the obstacles and the supercilious hints that maybe someone like him would be better off in a less active position. He hadn't given Giles any help because he had nothing left to give. Giles hadn't given him anything either, and that was exactly what Joe had wanted. Joe had had enough of pity and for a long time that was all he had seen any offered help as being. All they could do, all they had done, for each other had been to play. Old blues and new rock. They might not have shared a common taste but they, at least, had had a common language. If he was honest with himself Joe wasn't sure he would have made it through without that pressure value that the music gave him. It was a time where he could forget, briefly, what he had lost and lose himself in someone else's misery in minor key. Looking back now he wondered if it had not been the same for Giles.

And looking at the tall, slender man dressed in blood he also couldn't help wondering if this was the cause. So like Methos in many ways and yet so different. Where Methos reflected everything and revealed nothing but what the spectator looked to see, Ethan absorbed everything and let nothing out. Gentle bonhomie and caustic wit wielded as shield and weapon but with different styles. And behind the masks both needing, and hiding that need. Wanting, and hiding the want. At least Joe assumed they were because he couldn't conceive that that might not be the case.

And a fifty-fifty chance of being a pre-Immortal if Joe had understood Duncan correctly. But which one was it? Duncan owed him big-time for dropping a bombshell like that in his lap and then leaving him hanging. Did they know? Would he want to? That thought shook Joe's system. If someone tried to give him the gift of Immortality he would make sure that they had the receipt so he could return it. He had to admit that the thought of spending the rest of eternity sitting in his bar playing the blues was an attractive one but he had seen the price tag too many times to be tempted. Quixotically it had been that knowledge that had helped him the most when it looked like his brother Watchers were going to do what the Viet Cong had failed to do.

"So should I be worried about harbouring a wanted fugitive in my bar?" He wanted more information, didn't he always, but he didn't want to make a tense situation worse. Mac he could just about read as to when to push and when not. Methos he thought he could read on a good day but this was not a good day and there were just too many unknown variables. "Not that I mind." He hastened to assure them indiscriminately "I just like to know these things before hand."

Methos gave him that open-eyed stare that suggested he wasn't in the least fooled. It crossed Joe's mind that he might be scrunching up his face again. He had spent a week practicing in the mirror before in occurred to him that Methos might have been having him on.

"I don't think you need to worry Joe." Methos assured him "We took care of that."

"I think I might need to cross the US off my vacation destinations" Ethan agreed "but I think I am fairly far down the list of assassination targets and they can't go after me through official channels without explaining why they had a British citizen detained without trial or access to lawyer or embassy."

_'Why did they?'_ Joe wanted to ask but bit back the impulse. That would be pushing too far. He could practically sense Methos' amusement at his instinctual response. _'Screw him'_, Joe thought. _'Like he doesn't want to know everything'_. He got the feeling that that amused Methos as well but the ancient gave no indication that he was willing to elaborate and indulge Joe's curiosity. Joe desperately searched for something to say. Duncan was unhelpfully brooding and appeared to be only giving half his attention to events. Joe wondered where the other half was and whether it was lost to tiredness or to another time. There had been a few moments that morning when Duncan had appeared to drift out and Joe hadn't missed where, or more accurately at whom, Duncan had been looking at the time. He didn't think the old man had missed it either. Should he let Methos tackle Duncan about it or should he try and head off that confrontation? He knew Methos' past with the Horsemen was still something of a sore spot between the two men, not so much a battleground but a mine strewn no-man's-land into which both sides had agreed not to venture. He knew about mines. Knew the feeling you got when you realised that you had just stepped on one and in a few seconds the world was going to become a much messier and more painful place. He was remembering it all to clearly and he also had the horrible suspicion that he knew exactly where the warning sign had been that he had blithely talked right past.

"It was my fault." Giles said heavily into the silence "There was a misunderstanding and I thought Ethan had... done something he hadn't."

For the first time Joe thought he saw an honest emotion on Ethan's face and it was total and utter surprise. Methos' expression had gone from shuttered to battened down and black-out curtains drawn. He knew Ethan's side of the story then. That was hardly unexpected. Duncan... Duncan just watched something with glazed mind and far away eyes.

"You..." Ethan stopped abruptly. '..._Knew_' Joe mentally supplied. '..._Remembered_' '..._Betrayed me_'.

Whether Joe had been right in any of his guesses was not to be confirmed as Ethan turned away and made to leave.

To Joe's surprise it was Methos that called Ethan back.

"Ethan, wait."

Ethan turned slowly, obviously fighting whatever bond he had to Methos with his need to leave. Methos didn't say anything just waved his hand to indicate his face. Joe thought he might have caught a flash of sympathy cross the old man's features but it was gone before he could wonder at it's unexpected existence. He hadn't been convinced that Methos hadn't shed that emotion along with all the others he had claimed. Then again Joe had long ago stopped believing everything that Methos claimed.

Joe tried to decipher what significance that gesture might have to the two men. One look at Ethan had him metaphorically kicking himself for searching for hidden complexity when there was none. And with artificial legs kicks were a lot more painful than the normal variety. Ethan's face was still caked with a fair amount of blood, both his own and Methos' Joe suspected. If the man had walked out of the bar in that condition he would have been rushed to hospital or arrested for murder before he had gone nine paces. It wasn't just his face either. Although the colour hid it better a good portion of his clothes were splattered with bloody freckles.

Ethan pulled a face as he also took in Methos' meaning.

"The restroom is just over there" Joe offered cautiously.

"Ethan..." The whispered echoed around the room with more force than any shout could have done.

"Yes?" Ethan did not look away from Methos even as he answered Rupert's plea.

"I didn't know. Not then. I only remembered recently." There was a fractured defiance about Giles, pain seeped through the fissures but he refused to bow to it. "I looked for you."

"You found me."

It was strange to Joe to see someone drawing strength from Methos' mere presence when normally the opposite seemed to be true but Ethan appeared to be doing just that. Methos could have been carved from ivory, scarcely even breathing in his silence. Galatea and Pygmalion had stood in such a tableau - if Galatea, rather than being a model of feminine grace, had instead slouched with a masculine arrogance and a bottle of beer. If anyone else had walked into the bar at that moment it would have looked to them as if it was Methos and Ethan that were the ones involved in the conversation and yet Joe retained the firm conviction that every bit of Ethan's attention was focused on the man he appeared to be ignoring.

"I didn't know. I was losing so much of myself to the demon." Unnoticed by the two speakers Duncan started at the word. Joe felt the electric punch of shock at the term himself and sympathised. He flicked his eyes to Methos but knew as he did so that even if the old man had reacted to the word he would have missed it. Still, it was an interesting coincidence and one that warranted further investigation later. "All I remembered was going drinking with you and, well, 'And...' And then when I woke up..."

"And that night" Ethan's voice was a harsh whisper and finally he looked at Giles. There was nothing in the room at that moment but the two men. Their drama playing out to a cardboard audience who respectfully kept silent.

"I thought you were setting me up." Giles confessed quietly, face flushing. "And I hated you for that more than anything else."

Ethan crystallized instantly into something hard and sharp. "You honestly thought I seduced you as part of the job?"

"Well... You... When..." Giles stammered. He seemed to think that clean glasses would help him explain himself better because he removed his and started cleaning them carefully with a handkerchief. "With everything..."

The look the Ethan was giving him could have been learned on Medusa's knee. Giles put his, now spotless, spectacles back on and met the other man glare for glare.

"What was I supposed to think?" Giles echoed Duncan's earlier demand but a plaintive note sung in clear descant.

"I don't know." The reply whipped back "Maybe if you had actually tried thinking rather than gloating we could have found out."

Giles jerked back, stung.

"Now if you will excuse me." Ethan addressed the room in general and with brittle politeness. Ice could burn Joe remembered suddenly. You could become so cold you didn't feel cuts but when you got colder still you burnt. "I need to go and see to my toilette."

Leaving silence behind to mark his departure Ethan disappeared in the direction of the men's room.

"I didn't know." Giles slumped back into the seat from which he had half risen as Ethan stalked out. "I didn't think." He whispered. Joe didn't know whether to punch the man or help him. Was this how Methos felt when Duncan agonized over a problem? Joe suddenly had a lot more sympathy for the ancient Immortal. _'You know what you need to do'_, he wanted to shout. _'Just go and do it.'_

Joe waited for Methos to say something. He knew both men and up until that moment Methos had definitely taken Ethan's side. Before Methos was the an unmistakable opportunity for him to pass comment and ram the point home. Hooded though they were, Joe could see the steel glitter in Methos' eyes. Duncan on the other hand looked torn, unsure whether to say something or what to say if he spoke. The younger Immortal had the air of being more than a touch embarrassed that he had intruded on something so personal. Joe dismissed the Highlander's surprising sensitivities - he wasn't normally that scrupulous and it wasn't as if Duncan could have done anything about where and when it occurred. It was about time for Amanda to breeze into town again Joe thought. Duncan needed to relax and Amanda was very good at sweeping past the Highlander's sensibilities and cares and making him forget he had them. When she wasn't causing them anyway.

Duncan was too close, Joe realized suddenly. He might not have had all the facts but Joe could see the dark reflection of what Duncan and Methos' relationship might have become in the shattered, knife-edged pieces of what must once have been a close friendship and possibly something closer still. Preoccupied as he was with that relationship there was no way Duncan could not have drawn the obvious corollaries. Was that Methos' problem as well Joe puzzled when the biting wit remained sheathed. Or was this just another example of Methos' renowned response to unforeseen happenings?

Someone needed to do something Joe decided. Since neither of the other two men was going to step up to the plate then it was up to him. A double brandy prepared he took it over to where Giles sat, head in his hands. He didn't need to say anything just set the glass down within easy reach. Hearing the call of the alcohol Giles reached unerringly for the glass and downed the fiery liquid in one swift and all too practiced movement. Joe knew this mood all to well - it was despair. Noone left to be close to, no life left worth living, no future worth contemplating. He had been there and walked out alive on artificial legs. Unfortunately he didn't think a few sets would be the answer this time. The music had offered the path out for him but for Giles it had been Prozac rather than the needed Methadone. Joe tried to think back - what had helped him when he had needed it? Not pity that was for certain. Not alcohol although he hated to admit it.

"You fucked up big time didn't you?" Joe heard himself saying.

Giles' head snapped up and Joe wasn't surprised to see that, while he wasn't crying, his eyes were bright.

"What should I do?" Giles sounded ragged. A stray instinct that had nothing of compassion and only of survival told Joe to get away least he be dragged back to the self-made hell from which he had escaped all those years ago. But, if not to Heaven, then the lost man in front of him had at least helped him on his way to Purgatory. He could do no less in return.

"You get the hell in there" Joe admonished him "and you get down on your Goddamn knees and apologise until he believes you. Because otherwise he is going to walk out that door and you will have lost your last chance to make peace with him."

Giles stared at Joe as if he had never seen him before. Then, with startled glance that flicked from him to Duncan and finally to Methos, Giles visibly pulled himself together. A distracted 'excuse me' and he scrambled for the bathroom with a speed that was normally only seen in the bar after so much alcohol had been consumed by one person that it had formed an escape committee.

Joe wondered if he had imagined the slight inclination of Methos' head as Giles had looked at him. Had that been agreement, reassurance or benediction Joe speculated. Or had he just read too much into a gesture that might not have been there at all?

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	7. Chapter 7

"Thank you." Of all the possible epilogues for the scene which he had found himself witnessing Duncan would never have listed Methos expressing gratitude as a possibility. It was not just that it was a rare event in itself for Methos to say something like that and mean it but Duncan had half expected the cantankerous bastard to tear into Joe for having involved himself. Hadn't he got a constant earful of complaints when he had tried to get Methos to help with Robert and Gina? And yet in a situation that had dripped with old violence and had resulted in Methos dead and unprotected not more than a few hours before Methos was thanking Joe for furthering their involvement.

God, Duncan needed to get home and get some sleep. He wasn't thinking clearly and he knew it. He knew he was missing things, things he wouldn't normally miss. The coffee Joe had been feeding him was a lifeline but he was dangerously tired and getting to the point where he was too buzzed to sleep even if the option had been available. If a challenger turned up then he would have gladly given Methos leave to shoot them and would have followed him out the back way.

"You could have done the same thing." Some of Joe's frustration was clear in the bitten off words that he chewed up and spat back out.

Methos appeared to give the accusation some thought.

"No I couldn't." Methos denied after a suitable pause. His expression did not shift so much as a muscle but there was a demand for understanding oozing out of his pores.

It felt strange to be the 'watcher'. To see Joe nod to Methos in acknowledgment and try to work out what that meant. To wonder what Joe saw that let him accept the offered statement as truth. The next time the old man wandered off the face of the map he would have to buy Joe a drink or five and see if between them and the bottle they could work out what the hell had happened and how exactly it was all Methos' fault. The chatter of pedestrians and the low whine of cars seeped into the room as all three men looked for something to say.

"Do you think they will be alright?" Duncan worried. Methos and Joe obviously thought that Giles chasing after Ethan had been the right thing for him to do but he was not convinced either of them grasped quite how much of the blood on Ethan was likely to be Ethan's own. The fight between the two men earlier had been very real and very brutal. "He seemed a bit upset." He added lamely.

"Really?" The old man was on fine form today Duncan realised regretfully. "I wonder why that was." He shouldn't have assumed that the restraint that Methos had been showing that morning also applied to him.

"Adam." Joe chided. It occurred to Duncan that Joe was actually running interference for him with the oldest Immortal. He couldn't decide if that was a good or a bad thing. Under normal circumstances it would piss him off but between the visions and the caffeine jitters things were far from normal. Still it didn't feel encouraging that Joe felt he needed protecting. He was the protector. _'The Champion'_ he thought bitterly.

Eyes, narrowed and blank, regarded first Joe then himself and Duncan shifted uneasily. He was flayed open by that speculative gaze. All the dark secrets he had tried to hide, all the little dreams and visions and fantasies. Methos could look into his mind and see them, see the twisted place that his mind had become. He felt something inside him growl in response. This was Methos and Methos was _his_. He would order and Methos would obey. He would set the course and Methos would follow. He had the power and Methos would bend. It was what he did. Methos stepped aside. Methos backed down. Methos submitted. He wondered why Joe was giving him an odd sideways glance but ignored it to defend against that shield wall of copper and verdigris. If the eyes were the gateways to the soul then Methos was truly corrupted, the corrosion going so deep it could never be scoured away. It was just lucky he liked those twisted, cracked pathways that the old man called a mind. For the first time that morning he looked Methos in the eye and he smiled.

Secretly he hoped for something, some sign of his victory, some acknowledgment. He wondered what it would take to melt the ice and the memories clustered around like rats to a pipers' call. At long last Methos did look away, idly checking the nails of his right hand.

"I shouldn't worry." Long fingers tapped on the now empty beer bottle "Ethan is a believer in the 'revenge is best served cold and preferably from a distance' school of thought. He won't do anything too irreversible."

"That" Joe muttered "is just _so_ reassuring."

_'And this was Methos' idea of non-dangerous friends?'_ Duncan thought wryily. It was alright when it came to Methos' friends but when it came to his... oh yes that was always a different story.

"I wasn't worried about Giles." Duncan corrected. 'You do know he is a pre-Immortal don't you?' He wanted to ask but couldn't. This was Methos - he must have sensed it, mustn't he? Maybe that was even why "Yama" had let them hang around all those years ago when, from the sounds of things, the chance of accidental but violent death had been much higher. Duncan tried to imagine Giles in his late teens or early twenties and failed. The in-grown tweediness of the man defeating all attempts at regression to a youth of rock, drugs and an alternate view of property ownership. The violence was still there, covered with carefully tailored wool-weave.

"I think for once Ethan has greater cause." Methos mused.

Duncan wasn't convinced and said so. "He didn't seem bothered about the insinuation when it was you."

"That" Methos said sagely "is because I am not Ripper."

_'And because it was true?'_ Duncan wondered. He wanted to be properly outraged but it wasn't like he hadn't gone whoring a time or two with Fitz. Hell, Connor had practically dragged him to a cathouse when he had discovered Duncan's lack of experience. Or should that be his extreme horniness. It wasn't like he had planned to make a pass at his cousin it was just that he had been waiting for the marriage that wasn't going happen for so damn long that the sheep were beginning to look good. At least Connor had been the right species and the younger and far less worldly Duncan had somehow convinced himself that it wouldn't have really counted. God, he had been young. He hoped that incident hadn't made it into his chronicles since it was all too easy to imagine Methos' reaction when he read it. He wasn't really so provincial that Ethan's definite maleness made a difference to the situation. Duncan had to admit that there had been that unfortunate incident in the molly house but that had been surprise as much as anything. He missed Fitz but there had been times when he had wanted to kill the man. Repeatedly. Like every time the English buffoon had put on what he seemed to think was a Scot's accent and slurred "Tha' nae supposed tae be there!".

"Talk sense Adam." Joe complained.

"Oh come on Joe. Everyone has somebody or something that they like to tell themselves they won't betray. You might go batshit crazy at the rest of the world but you don't..."

"Raise your sword against your brothers." Duncan finished without thinking.

Methos stilled and Duncan was put in mind of a small animal when it sensed a predator. "Yes." Methos agreed slowly "You don't do that."

Joe looked between them confused. "Guys?"

"And I imagine Kronos felt the same sense of betrayal that Giles thought he was entitled to for those final moments when he thought I was with him as your inside man." Methos continued as if Joe hadn't spoken. There were some very vicious small animals Duncan remembered.

_'You are the logical choice Brother. Your idea about getting a inside man is good but I don't trust anyone who would sell out his own city. Much better for you to be there... able to learn their most closely guarded, most intimate, secrets. And who would think to look for one of the Horseman as a household slave? Scribes' cubbyhole or master's bed-chamber, you'll be in the perfect position to get the information we need. It isn't like you haven't done either before. Just remember you ride with the winners... And think of me when they spread your legs.'_

As much as he wanted to Duncan couldn't take his eyes from Methos. He could hear Joe's shock in the crack of slipped glass meeting wood bar-top but he and Methos stared at each other in a place outside reality and he felt nothing.

Methos' voice was the smoky, leaching chill of dry ice. "Not that he would have felt guilty about the slur on my character if he had lived long enough to find out he had been wrong. But then Kronos didn't have an illusions about what we shared in bed."

Duncan felt the world shift around him. The visions... He had been telling himself that it was just his imagination, trying to convince himself it was something left over from the vision he had had when Keene had killed him. The result of taking the other Methos' head. Maybe even things that the other Methos had done but which he could tell himself had nothing to do with _his_ Methos.

"Joe. Could we have a minute please?"

Everything was swirling back to him. Anger. Betrayal. Hurt. Need. He didn't know if they were his emotions or another vision but they beat at him. And he either had to run from Methos or face him and everything that implied. He had never run from a fight before and he wasn't about to start now. The real question was why Methos hadn't even attempted to make tracks. Not that it would have helped the other Immortal. Methos couldn't have hidden forever. It occurred to Duncan the Methos probably knew that and had therefore picked his ground. It didn't make him feel better. Neither did the the stubborn, 'you must be joking' glare that he was receiving from his Watcher. It was undeniably eloquent but not helpful.

"Go on Joe." Methos said softly "You can get the information out of Macleod when all the shouting has died down. Although if you could take Mac's katana with you..."

The joke sounded a touch forced and Duncan noticed that Methos hadn't suggested that he be similarly disarmed. Duncan glowered and waited. Methos would not be placating him so easily.

"Right. I'll just go and... check my e-mail." Joe relented with ill-grace "Just try not to mess the bar up again. I open in a few hours."

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you know" Ethan said as the bathroom door opened "the contents of this sink could be worth more than the rest of this bar?"

Without looking up Ethan knew it had to be either Yama or Ripper, and Yama would never rebound into the room with that little grace. Not even after he had drunk Ethan under the table and then... Ethan smiled to himself. No man should have been able to preform having drunk that amount of alcohol. Immortal stamina and healing definitely had their upsides. Not to mention Immortal memory. Ethan looked up at himself from within the blood matted water, ripples hiding wrinkles in an unexpected blessing. He didn't need this and especially not now. Taking a twin handful of water Ethan scrubbed at his face again.

Why couldn't Ripper have just stayed away? It had been easier not knowing. Definitely easier than Ripper standing there and reminding him of what couldn't be. For as long back as he could remember Ethan had known he wanted more out of life than his poor background could offer. For a while it had been the fantasy of money and freedom and then he had met Ripper. Ripper had been his way out. His hope. His key. He had waited for one of those rare nights when circumstances had lead to Ripper going to bed alone after a party. A drunk and stoned Ripper was a horny Ripper. Ethan still wasn't sure if Giles had realised exactly who he had fucked until they woke up together the next morning but it didn't matter. That had been the start.

Ripper had denied it, denied everything, especially at the beginning, but his desire for what Ethan offered him kept pulling him back. And every time Ripper could not help himself and sunk into Ethan's willing body Ethan had bound the man more closely to him. Ethan was prepared to admit that slipping into Ripper's bed when its owner wasn't in his right mind might not have been the most promising start to their relationship but it was a representative one. And, in his own defense, Ethan had always claimed that he had not been in a much better state than Ripper had been. And it had been the truth. It had taken a lot of chemical and liquid fortifiers to give him the courage to face whatever Ripper would do to him if his plan didn't work and Ripper objected to his presence. Ripper tended to object to things violently, a trait that he had not noticeably grown out of. Ethan was engaged in washing off the evidence of that temperament after all. Then Ripper had left and Ethan had discovered what it had been that he really wanted.

Ethan started into the depths as water splattered noisily from his face and wondered if maybe he should keep some of the water he had washed in. He hadn't been kidding about its value. The blood of Immortality and the blood of Chaos - it could be the core to the most amazing scrying pool. He sighed and thrust his hand into the murky water before he could change his mind. You could get information from blood. Dangerous information. Ethan dealt in dangerous but this was different. And could come back to haunt him much too easily.

The basin gurgled as it emptied and Ethan began fastidiously cleaning away the scummy streaks that the water left behind. Normally he would brazen it out or run but the latter was not possible and the former he just wasn't in the mood for. He could still feel the obscene ease with which the blade had slid into Yama's chest. Hear the reedy, gasping cough Yama had made before self-discipline and oncoming death had clamped down and stifled the sounds. The heavy limpness of the arm he had held, the obsidian Yama had given him cutting through sensitive translucent skin like it was fog. It had not been a pleasant experience. Indeed given the option he would have taken another round of 'interrogation' or another acid arm-wash.

It wasn't just squeamishness, causing death was almost blasphemous. Life was chaos. Certainly sometimes death resulted but that was an aspect of life not doing its job properly. Chaos killed but only through chance or accident. Unforeseen consequences, sudden mutation... that was Chaos' way. It just dealt the cards, frequently from different decks, it was up to you to stay in the game. To deliberately and premeditatedly take another life... that went against everything that he had chosen to believe in for practically all his adult life. He had faced down demons, vampires, the American military and even Quentin Travers on that one issue. It had lost him more contracts and caused more pernicious situations than anything else he had done and yet Yama had breezed past his objections like Ethan had been speaking another language. Maybe he should have tried Sumerian, Ethan wondered as he washed his hands again. They looked clean but you could never really tell. Everything felt dirty. He wondered how you laundered a life. Was it dry clean only or could you just find a cosmic laundromat and stick yourself in for a spin cycle? Was there a deific Dot Cotton watching over everything like a deranged Charon to make sure that you had your copper penny for the trouble? Were lives even colour-fast or did you need to separate your deeds out to wash as different loads. Of course some people had more dirty laundry in their past than others.

An annoying tickle at the back of his neck pulled Ethan out of his imaginings. Whoever it was that was standing there was watching him, staring, but still hadn't said a word. Ethan realised with annoyance that it was starting to get to him. An irritating itch that he didn't want to scratch but which, apparently, wouldn't go away on its own. Ethan straightened slowly, feeling his old bones grown and crack into place as he transformed from _homo gibbus_ to _homo erectus_. It was Ripper.

The mirror above the sinks was glaring at him with a frightening lack of anger. Ethan much preferred anger. Anger he knew how to deal with. Pain he knew how to deal with. It was all the bloody regret and recriminations that hurt so much. If Ripper cared about the past that much then bugger the laws of the multiverse, they could go back and change things. They might destroy the world and themselves in the process but you couldn't make an omelette without scrambling a few eggs.

Still addressing Ripper's reflection Ethan asked wearily: "Want do you want?"

The reflection wavered, it wasn't Ripper standing there but a tired, beaten middle-aged man that Ethan didn't know. Ethan looked around alarmed. There was something seriously wrong with the world when Ripper had that air of defeat. It was insidious and appalling. It got underneath Ethan's defenses like nothing else could and, what was worse, he didn't care. This was how it had all gone wrong the last time. His Ripper had needed someone so he had dropped all his plans and dragged the man out drinking. For a few hours he got every wish he had ever made granted. Stupid selfish brats the lot of them. Did they not realise how much Ripper had given up so he could be their Giles? No, they hadn't cared. They had just taken what they wanted and then deserted him. They had deserved every mean, vicious thing Ethan had done to them over the years. They had taken something special and wonderful and done their best to destroy it. If their actions had been deliberate then Ethan would have been able to understand it. He got revenge. He got deliberate cruelty. It was the unthinking mindlessness of it that offended him. And these were the people who Ripper had chosen over Ethan? It was no wonder Ethan thought that most of the rest of humanity could go hang.

Ripper drew himself together and took a step towards Ethan's position. The edge of the work surface dug into Ethan's back as he instinctively tried to back up. The puppy-dog eyes, Ethan thought desperately, anything but that. His Ripper was unshakable, untouchable. A beloved adversary. A nemesis. Someone who could accept anything that Ethan could throw at at him and Ethan threw because it was the only thing that Ripper would allow Ethan to give him. And because Ripper would give it right back with interest. Ethan had only to look at Ripper during those times to know he was interested.

"I want things to be different." Giles admitted.

Ethan smiled viciously. "You want to go back to being a demon again? Was Fyarl good for you or would you prefer a different species?"

Ripper wasn't responding like he should. That barb ought to have got an angry rise out of him but instead he flinched back. Ethan was truly scared and more than a touch disconcerted. What the hell had happened while he had been away? He knew that the Watchers had been destroyed along with Sunnydale but Ripper and his bloody pack of children had survived. Ethan had considered sending him a congratulations card when he heard that Ripper had set about reconstructing the Watchers in typical Ripper style - library first.

"Ethan." Damn it, Ripper was almost stammering. "What do you want to make this better?"

"Well not your apologies." Ethan snapped. Why was the man being so infuriating? And how could he make whatever it was stop?

_'I want you not to have left me.' _

'I want you not to have blamed me or yourself for Randall.'

'I want to love me as much as I love you.'

No, there was nothing he wanted from Ripper that Ripper could give him.

"But I let them take you!" Finally, Ethan thought, the defensive self-doubt was turning into anger as Ripper all but yelled the words. "I didn't come for you!"

This was wonderful. This was pure. This was chaotic. "You didn't do the London Marathon either. For the love of Janus get over yourself. I did not expect the big conquering Watcher to come and rescue me. You think I didn't realise how drunk we both were when I cast the spell?"

"You knew?" Ripper deflated again like a popped balloon and Ethan cursed himself to an eternity of good behavior. That was not what he had wanted to happen. When had he stopped being able to read Ripper?

"Not right away I will admit." Ethan drawled "Your pet slayer was a bit rough and I had other things to think about at that point but I put the clues together as soon as I had a spare five minutes to myself. And I had a lot to spare." Ethan doubled the term of his punishment to two eternities. He hadn't meant to say that last bit. He had to get Ripper off the topic of what Ripper had or hadn't done and on to more familiar ground before he ended up convincing himself, again, that Ripper did care for him after all. "I had any number of chances to escape but I didn't take them because I had a job to do. You might not have come across this concept of fulfilling your obligations but some of us have reputations to maintain."

"Reputations?" Ripper looked at him as if Ethan had donned a rainbow tutu and declared himself the next pope. "As what?"

"As a damn good contractor." It might be the one thing Ethan had achieved in his life but he had done it on his own and Ethan was proud of that fact. It took a lot to make it as a commercial human mage when you didn't have any contacts but Ethan had. "I didn't ask questions. I completed my contract and I didn't double cross my employers."

"Contractor?!" Ripper seemed to be finding his feet now they were on firmer emotional ground. "You were a mercenary!"

_'Who are we really talking about Ripper?'_ Ethan asked silently. _'Which of us accepted money to kill and risk being killed? Paramilitary is so much better than mercenary is it?'_ He didn't voice the thoughts aloud, it was too much of a sensitive subject. They needed to find something that would let them shred each other to pieces but where there was no feeling left in the scar tissue that had grown up over the wounds they would rake up. How many times had they had this argument over the years or one like it?

"What the hell did you expect?" Ethan reveled in the energy pouring from Ripper. "You taught me magic so I could make a living from it. I did. What did you think would happen?"

Meaningless accusations and demands. It might not have been up to his normal level of witty repartee but this was what they both needed if they wanted to walk away from this and each other at the end.

"I expected you to be a bit more selective in which jobs you took!" Ripper growled.

_'Make me'_ Ethan wanted to dare. "More selective? Maybe if you had stuck around and we had your family's name and contacts we could have set ourselves up as well-to-do mages who only worked on the side of light but I didn't have that luxury. I was an unknown kid with a bit of skill. You think I could afford to be picky? I don't know what fantasy world you were living in at Oxford but it definitely wasn't the same one as the rest of us."

Actually, Ethan knew exactly what world Ripper had been living in when he returned to Oxford. Ethan had followed him there after all, with a bit of help. Yama had taken a lot of convincing but in the end he had come around to Ethan's way of seeing things. Ethan really and honestly hadn't meant to kill him. He had just lost it and the magic had come bursting out of him into a physical version of the emotional maelstrom that was all that was driving him. Ethan had nearly killed himself then. It was only Yama coming back to life that stopped him. That had been enough. Yama had said it was time for him to move on anyway so Oxford it was until Ripper sent him, and Yama dragged him, away.

"You could have tried..." Ripper began.

"How do you know I didn't!" Ethan cut him off "You know there really are only a small number of groups who are interested in hiring mages, Chaos or otherwise. Hell, I even worked for the Watchers a few times." _Think about that Mr Head Watcher!_ "They were dreadful payers. Thirty days after completion and human currency only." Ethan tutted. "I do hope you have updated the official policies into this century. Or at least the last one."

It was not often he won one of these arguments. Normally Ripper hit him about this point. Ethan was going to have to start improvising unless Ripper got swinging quickly.

"You never worked for the Watchers."

Ah. Ripper's precious Watchers. Always a good one. They were toe to toe now. Ripper crowding him against fittings until he was almost sitting in a sink. In other situations... Best not to think of those.

"Do you want to know how many times I have saved the world or averted the apocalypse?" The poisoned, syrup words rolled off Ethan's tongue easily. Great sweet globs of sound.

"Is it more or less than the number of times you have started one?" Giles hissed, aural insulin for the mind.

"A lot more than you seem to think." Ethan could feel the grin pulling at his lips. Giles had spend years hiding in the British Museum while Ethan had been out in the thick of it trying to keep body and soul together. He had never sat down and counted the numbers but he had a strong suspicion he had saved the world more times than Giles had. Of course he had put sections of it, or at least the inhabitants, in jeopardy many more times as well and had generally caused a lot of mischief and annoyance but, oddly enough, he didn't take contracts where there was a good chance he would end up as dead or demon-treats. "Just because I worship Chaos doesn't mean I want the world ripped into a Hell Dimension. But I also like my part of the world to contain food. Call me greedy and all that..."

Ethan doubted Giles had ever actually stopped to think about which contracts he did and didn't take. 'Distract town so appropriate offering can be made to demon or it goes on a rampage' Ethan would do. 'Open a inter-dimensional portal to clear the way for a true-demon and/or his conquering hoards' he wouldn't. He might be an amoral sociopath as Ripper had claimed so many times but that didn't mean he didn't have the sense he was born with. Although... sometimes Ethan did wonder. Especially when gloating became a problem. Was it his fault if he liked to watch? He could feel Chaos after all, could feel it in every living thing and natural or unnatural system. For him Chaos wasn't just a theory. And when it surged he could feel the answering surge within him. It would be very easy to get lost in the maze that Chaos and power wove together but he was too good a mage and too disciplined for that. It might be his religious opiate of choice but that didn't mean he didn't recognise how dangerous it was. It was just occasionally that he allowed himself to enjoy the rush.

Giles stalked away from him as if his mere presence was noxious. For all Ethan knew it was.

"You seemed to be doing alright."

This again. Ethan straightened up and adjusted his clothes carefully. That was the problem with silk. It felt wonderful against the skin but it wrinkled so easily and was none to fond of water. Or blood.

"That was because I was staying with Adam. The man has a lot of money when he chooses to use it."

That was an understatement. It wasn't just the bank accounts and the shares, Yama was wary of having too much money in traceable form even spread among his vast family of non-existent people. Yama had been absolutely enthused when Ethan had introduced him to inter-dimensional banking. Ethan had a suspicion that Methos' next incarnation might be as an accountant. As Yama had said, there were a lot of other Immortals with similar problems especially now everyone was tightening up on money laundering. Not to mention that you were less likely to kill someone if they were your only link to your life savings. Methos would make a very good Swiss Gnome in Ethan's opinion. Neutral, craggy, more than a bit cuckoo and with a fondness for chocolate and fondue.

"And what did he get in return?" Ripper sneered. Ethan liked that sneer - it was the one that said 'you are mine and no one else's' even if Ripper didn't mean that particular sentiment any more. Ethan felt something he hadn't even known was fragile break inside him.

"Get over it." Ethan snapped. "You deserted me. The others scattered. He was the only one left because he hadn't been part of our circle. And it isn't like I am the only person in this bathroom to have slept with him so don't pull that moral outrage crap on me. It was your fault!"

That was wrong. Ethan hadn't meant to say that. Had someone cast a bloody truth spell on him as a joke. He wouldn't have put it passed Yama but Ethan didn't _think_ that Yama had enough magical ability to do it, and certainly not without Ethan noticing.

"How!?" The shock that Ethan had felt at his own statement was reflected back at him from Ripper.

"You left me!" Ethan howled before he could stop himself. "I needed you and you left me."

They weren't talking about the Initiative and they both knew it. Maybe they should have had the conversation years ago and maybe they shouldn't be having it now but neither of them could stop. Ethan had a nasty suspicion that it was an unforeseen side effect of the consecration. Death was the ultimate truth after all and he did get to be high priest for the day. It seemed ridiculous given the passing acquaintance that 'God' in question had with the concept. Ridiculous or not it was definitely happening. Either that or they had both decided that they had had enough and wanted to clear the air between them. That didn't seem any more realistic.

"I had to get away." Ripper whispered. Ethan could see the truth of his belief. Whether Ethan agreed or not Ripper had honestly thought that he couldn't stay and keep his life and sanity.

He wanted to tell Ripper than he had been wrong but he remembered what it had been like. They had been playing. That was it. It hadn't seemed so harmful. Yes some of their games were dangerous. Yes, they took risks. Visiting vampire brothels had been a kick. Ritual magic had been a rollercoster of exhilaration. They had drunk, they had done drugs, they had fucked. Any one of those things could have ended up killing them one way or another but they hadn't cared because they were young and thought they would live forever. Or hoped to die before they got old. And then Randell did.

"And I didn't?" Ethan bit back the sob that was building in his chest. This is why they had never had this conversation. He was seventeen again and a nasty combination of scarily worldly and scarily naive. He had been through worse, seen worse, dealt with worse... In some senses he had done worse but you never forgot your first time.

"_You_ didn't kill Randell." The detachment in Ripper's voice was chilling, all the more so because Ethan knew how deep the remorse and regret ran.

"But I was the reason." There eyes locked. Neither of them had admitted it before and Ethan wasn't sure if Ripper would now. "You killed him to save me." He couldn't do it. Ethan turned his head and looked away. He didn't want to see what Ripper thought of him. "You think I felt nothing? You just left. What was I supposed to do?"

Every now and then he still woke up sure that Randell's blood was splattered across his face. Thinking that Randell's dead weight was pinning him down. Ethan scrabbled for the magic layer of dissolute indifference that normally prevented him from having to think about personally unpleasant things. So much for finding a topic that they were inured to. The shreds had been about right though, certainly his dignity and well-being felt like they were in tatters. The dripping tap from the third sink marked torturous time and Ethan gathered his defenses back around himself. The unseen wounds could bleed but now he had been reminded of their presence he could shore up his emotional walls.

"I don't know." Rippers' reply was a long time in coming.

"Then you know what you can do with that high-horse you rode in on." Even his snappy comebacks had lost their bite.

Ethan was surprised to hear the hint of a smile whisper across Rippers tone. "Dismount and apologise?" Ripper suggested.

Despite himself Ethan looked back. The small, self-deprecating smile was there. It was real. It couldn't be real. Not after... Not for him...

"Didn't we start here." Ethan could hear the weariness in his own voice. "I don't want your apologies."

"Maybe I need to give them to you." Ripper's voice was soft. Softer than he had heard it in years, decades even.

"Don't..." Ethan could deal with anything but that. Their relationship for more than half their lives had been based on a hastily created mutual antipathy. He needed that. Needed Ripper to hate him because the only other thing Ripper would give him was rejection. Ethan walked away from Ripper's hypnotic pull. Ripper was still between him and the door, blocking his exit so he just went as far as he could. Just like he always did.

"Ethan..?"

The dunce sent to the corner. That was about right. Did Ripper know what he was doing to him? He could feel the magic stirring inside him and calling out to its old playmate. Magic fed off emotion and visa versa. That was why love, lust and hate were such powerful motivators. Probably why the Fyarl spell had gone wrong last time, Ripper's own magic tangling the already tangled enchantment.

He felt a hand on his shoulder trying to turn him back around and Ethan let himself be turned. Ripper was there. Too close. Too inviting.

"We're too old for this Ripper." Ethan told him dismally. The age of his last lover hung in his mind like a demented Sesame street cartoon. He wasn't strong enough for this. Not after the last few years.

"Two old, and rapidly getting older, mystics." Ripper agreed "All the more reason to stick together."

Ripper had scoffed when Ethan had said they weren't particularly fond of each other. Ethan realised that maybe it was time to admit that Ripper hadn't laughed for the reason Ethan had thought he had. The fact that they had ended up in bed that night did not mean anything, or at least he had convinced himself it hadn't given the aftermath.

"Oh Ripper." There was a bubble of hysteria in Ethan's laughter. "Don't you think we learned that lesson the last time?"

Ethan calmed down under Ripper's appraising look. There was an edge to Ripper that hadn't been there before. One that gave Ethan a pang of longing for the old days when they had been sadistic and self-centred together.

"What we learned," Ripper said clearly "was that neither one of us can drink, shag and spellcast like we did when we were teenagers."

And that was all the warning he got before Ripper slowly got down on to both knees in front of him. Ethan felt his cock twitch in interest. It wasn't like the contrary organ had been uninterested in proceedings up until that point. A good fight with his Ripper gave him fantasy material for years but Ethan had been able to successfully avoid giving the banked desired any leverage until that moment. It wasn't easy and it wasn't being made any easier by the way Ripper licked his lips and racked his eyes over the length of Ethan's body.

"What in the name of the nine Gods of the Vichitze are you doing?" Ethan demanded horsely. It was a rather feeble protest given how well silk trousers hid certain things, or didn't as was more the point.

Ripper's eyes were gleaming with all the fire that Ethan had been afraid was lost. "A very wise man told me to get down on my knees and apologise until you believed me."

Ethan felt his breath catch in this throat as Ripper reached forward slowly and, when Ethan made no move to stop him, traced a single paper calloused finger around the outline of Ethan's silk-clung erection.

"Adam said that?" Ethan wheezed. He could definitely believe it. Payback would happen. Just as soon as this little interruption in reality was over. Not that Ethan was in any hurry for things to end. Whatever the hell was going on or whatever drugs he was on he was quite happy to stay that way. Three cheers for the whack on the head Ethan thought giddily.

Not waiting any longer for Ethan to object Ripper popped the top button of Ethan's flies. "Actually it was Joe."

Ethan boggled. The other Watcher had suggested...

"I doubt this was what he had in mind."

From Yama it would have been exactly what he had had in mind. And unless anything more interesting had arisen probably what he did have in mind at that very moment. Not that Yama had particularly voyeuristic tendencies but he had a dirty mind and a good imagination. Between the two he was probably thinking ahead of reality by at least the length of one incredibly stupid argument.

"Bugger what he had in mind." Ripper opined succinctly. "The question is whether or not you want to accept my apology?" Ripper's fingers hovered over the pull tab of Ethan's trousers.

Ethan stared at Ripper in disbelief. If Ripper didn't get on with it very soon then he was going to find himself in a different shape the next time he woke up. His cock was straining towards Ripper's hand like a horse pulled for home.

"This does not mean I am accepting any apologies." Ethan warned. It was the only thing he could do to try and keep some control over the situation. If he had ever had any, which he was beginning to doubt.

The zipper dropped freeing his cock to the cold air and Ripper's warn breath as he lent forward to huff against it. "Then I will just have to keep doing this until you do."

That thought certainly had merit Ethan decided. He didn't normally go commando, not these days, but Yama had suggested it. Or at least had made some pointed comment about visible boxer lines under silk trousers. And the silk felt good against his skin although it was a distant second place to the slither of a wet tongue belonging to one Rupert Giles aka Ripper. Ethan's head rolled back, narrowly missing the wall, his arms flying out to try and find some sort of support as Ripper stopped teasing him and slipped the crown of his erection between moist lips.

"Ripper." Ethan pleaded. He had forgotten why this was such a bad idea. Forgotten all the years that lay between them. Forgotten, apparently, just how damn good Ripper had been at giving head. Strong hands slipped within his trousers and grasped his hips and held him still, not that he had been intentionally moving. The feel of the silk sliding over his arse and down his legs was just another one of the wonderful sensations that was assailing him. Given the way Ripper was slowly driving him out of his mind Ethan was only thankful that breathing was pretty much automatic. Or at least panting and whimpering which was all he could seem to manage thanks to the Ripper's talented touch. How, after all this time Ripper remembered he liked to be sucked just so..? Or have the barest hint of teeth run over that spot that only Ripper could find..? Or feel the rub and swirl of Ripper's tongue like... Ethan moaned, his fingers spasming around the edge of the counter. Like that. Please. Oh. Please.

Some things got slower as you got older but slow could be good. Like the slow move of Ripper's lips, the slow rasp of tongue, the slow ebb and flow of the wet, welcoming mouth. Ripper seemed to be determined to ring every possible noise and groan out of him before he let him come. Ethan tried to stifle the noise before it brought investigators to make sure they weren't killing each other. He would have liked to think Yama would know them well enough to guess what was happening and ensure their privacy but the old bastard would probably be the first through the door. He could imagine the looks on their faces - Joe and Duncan shocked, the latter maybe a little aroused as well. Yama, lounging against the door frame with an attitude that suggested the entire thing had been put on for his benefit.

"Please..." Ethan begged. "Ripper..."

He decided to believe that Ripper hadn't just snickered around his cock. The huffing vibration was really a new technique that Ripper was trying out, and it was working whatever it was. The hands on his hips slipped back to cup the cheeks of his arse, encouraging him forwards and deeper. And then he felt the magic. It wasn't anything either of them did, it was just _there_, curling between them and sparking fire along his nerves. How had he missed this last time. Oh he knew how - too much alcohol and suspicion, but... He should have known that working sex and magic together for too long had effects on the participants. Should have known and had known. How many times had he been called in to deal with one half of a pair when the other had left or died? He just never thought it could apply to Ripper and himself. And certainly not after all these years. It didn't just require the long term combination of sex and magic but a shared emotional link. They hadn't shared anything except violence and the occasional fluid since... Ripper surged against him and thankfully cut off that train of thought. And none of it mattered anyway. Nothing mattered but this feeling. He was flying so high, soaring on iridescent clouds of sensation. He was no Icarus, the wings that bore him having less substance than feather and wax but more staying power. The vortex of warmth pulled him higher and higher until the sun swallowed him and he was gladly consumed in its flames.

"Ethan?" The fire had dimmed down to a gentle warmth and seemed to be speaking to him.

It came to him that he was Ethan and he had eyes which opened if he thought about it hard enough. It was an effort but Ethan was rewarded with the image of Ripper giving him a very worried look. It was about that point it occurred to Ethan that he was also sitting on the floor, which he was sure he hadn't been the last time he had checked, and his trousers were acting as a very effective hobble. He blinked slowly and did a quick check of all limbs and facilities. A few aches made themselves known but overall he felt supremely languid and content.

"Ripper." Ethan purred.

"You had me worried for a minute there." Giles admitted "With the possible concussion and all..."

_'By all means'_, Ethan thought, _'put my hideous lapse down to possible concussion'_. Losing track of ones surroundings was bad enough. Forgetting how to remain standing was just embarrassing. Especially at his age.

"Your wonderful technique, my dear." Oh well so much for playing it cool. Better than admitting that it was the magic that had overcome him. "Consider it a compliment."

Giles chuckled. "So you think you can manage standing again?"

Ethan did his best to shoot Ripper an irritated glare but suspected his effort fell rather short.

"I can if you can." Ethan challenged. He at least he had the wall and basins within arms reach for that added boost. He would die rather than admit it but his legs still felt a little wobbly. Feeling unusually kindly he reached out an arm to help Ripper up. "You missed a bit." He commented as Ripper came back to a comparable eye-height. Stepping in close he brushed a thumb over the errant trail of semen that decorated Ripper's cheek and wiped it away.

"That was because some bloody pillock was falling over at the time and distracting me."

Ethan looked at his thumb considering, with a shrug he put it in his mouth and licked it clean.

"I am not sure if that is arousing or disgusting. Or both." Giles straightened completely and stretched. "Ow. You know I think this is another thing we can't do like we did when we were teenagers. Do you think that floors were softer then?"

The instinct to say something hurtful rose in Ethan and he fought it back. It would be a long time before he was willing to trust that this was real but for now he was willing to make at least that much effort. Still he could only resist temptation so far.

Smiling to make it clear he was joking Ethan assured Ripper: "You were harder."

In response Ethan found himself pulled closer and his palm pressed against Ripper's groin.

"Really?" Ripper asked.

Ethan curled his fingers around the solid mass under the sensible trousers and stroked. Ripper's breath hissed out between his teeth. Turnabout was not only fair play - it was fun.

"Of course" Ethan reassured, hand moving rhythmically "the added experience more than makes up for the..."

He never finished the sentence as Ripper kissed him. Somehow they ended up jammed against the wall, Ethan's trousers back on the floor and Ethan almost in the sink for the second time. Ethan swore around Ripper's tongue, first at the cold of the surface and then at Ripper's fly as his fingers fumbled for the elusive tab.

"Slow down." Ripper panted into his mouth.

Ethan had no intention of slowing anything down but he did take the opportunity to pull away from Ripper long enough to investigate what was going on with the recalcitrant zip. All issues of fabric tension and direction of pull resolved satisfactorily Ethan wasted no time in de-bagging Ripper in the traditional manner and resuming what he had been doing before the interruption. He loved the way that Ripper responded to his touch. It was so open, so passionate... so chaotic. There was no order or reason in his need. Just touch, feeling and reaction.

"Beautiful." Ethan whispered. Hoping that Ripper wouldn't hear him and yet saying it aloud so he might.

With his spare hand Ethan confiscated Ripper's glasses and dumped them carelessly to the side. From the sounds that followed Ethan suspected that they had ended up in the next sink across. Leaning forward again Ethan traced Ripper's parted lips with his tongue. They opened for him, silently begging. When Ripper was like this Ethan could not deny him anything, and certainly not a kiss.

"If you want anything else you had better say right now," Ethan warned. He tried to stop so that Ripper could answer but he found his wrist gripped firmly and forcibly moved in an even faster rhythm than the one that he had been setting. Taking that as an answer, Ethan tried to remember if had ever actually found a spell that let him breathe through his ears and went back to devouring Ripper's mouth and having the favour returned.

They were different now Ethan realised. Different even than that had been the last time they had met. Despite Ripper's abandon the lines of worry were still visible, too deep and ingrained to be totally removed. The eyes were more sunken, harsher, sadder. Ethan ran his hands over as much of Ripper as he could reach. He wanted to strip Ripper down, to really see him, but one of them in a state of semi-nudity was enough for a public rest room at their age. But if he couldn't look he could touch. Ripper felt different, older. That was to be expected though. They were both older. They had both been through things in the last few years that neither wanted to repeat or voluntarily discuss. Maybe they had finally found a new understanding. Maybe they both needed a quick fuck. Time would tell.

Ripper's fingers wound and burrowed into Ethan's hair, trapping their mouths together so tightly that kissing was flattened to contact. His other arm was braced on the counter top as his hips pumped harder into Ethan's fist. Ethan could feel the tickle of magic again, weakly this time, and felt Ripper gasp into his mouth in surprise as well as arousal. So Ripper hadn't been practicing enough to sense what had happened to Ethan, Ethan grinned. It was about time Ripper remembered what it was like and how good it could be. Maybe when Ripper found he was still himself the next day he would be amenable to a repeat performance.

Ethan wanted to crow with joy, to dedicate the entire encounter to his Gods. Ripper was almost frantic and it was all Ethan could do to keep his seat. Not that he cared. This was what he loved. This power and lack of control. Giles broke the kiss, need for oxygen finally overcoming other considerations. Ethan took advantage of his freedom to lick along Ripper's jaw line to attack Ripper's ear and the tempting, sensitive neck below. The hand tightened in his short hair, encouraging rather than dissuading.

"Will you fuck me later?" Ethan whispered in Ripper's ear.

Ethan's answer was a choked sob and a pulsing dampness over his hand and lower body. Ethan concidered it lucky that he wasn't wearing his trousers. He suspected his shirt tails had been anointed but they would not be on visible display. Ethan grinned to himself and laid one last kiss on the pulse point of Ripper's throat. Ripper sagged forwards and, forewarned by his own experience, Ethan caught Ripper easily and held him close until his eyes flickered open.

"Yes," Ripper slurred.

Ethan stared at him in confusion until the meaning became clear and his face split into a grin.

"I look forward to it" Ethan assured him. "But maybe a bed next time?"

Ripper laughed a little shakily. "If it is going to be anything like that - a bed and a set of crutches for afterwards. I take back everything I thought earlier. I had forgotten how strong the magic could be. If it doesn't settle down a bit..." Ripper shook his head in stunned, and slightly hazy, disbelief. "At least I'll die happy."

Wonderful as it was, things were poking at Ethan in uncomfortable places and the cold tap was trying for a level of intimacy he wasn't ready for, at least without dinner first.

"Can you stand okay?" Ethan checked before levering Ripper upright and himself from his less than comfortable perch. They looked at each other, clothing in disarray and splattered with semen.

"I haven't done that in years." Ethan admitted merrily. There seemed to be more joy in the world for some reason.

"Made out in a pub rest room?" Giles chuckled with him "Me neither I must confess. It seems apposite given how we met the first time."

Ethan's laugh transmuted into a snicker. Still chuckling to himself he stepped into the single cubicle in the hopes of retrieving some toilet paper.

"Are you going to tell me the rest of it?" Ripper asked quietly as he accepted a handful of tissues from Ethan.

"I have the imprint of a tap on my arse" Ethan tried hopefully.

"Ethan!" Ripper said, exasperated. Ethan looked over at Ripper warily but there was nothing except burning curiosity in Ripper's bearing. "Adam, the original 'give peace a chance' flower child, just happened to break you out of a top secret, highly guarded military facility?"

Looking himself over in the mirror Ethan found that, other than his hand, his shirt had suffered the most from their recent activity, or at least bore the most evidence of it. Ethan wiped at the residue until it was nothing but a darker damp patch on the silk and hoped that his trousers would cover anything too incriminating. Not that he minded incriminating - but not on his clothes! He had style after all, and one that didn't include crusty semen deposits.

"Oh that!" Ethan pulled his trousers on and thanked whichever Lord of Chaos was watching him that day that Ripper had asked him about one of the topics he didn't mind answering questions on. "His friend, Duncan, was having trouble with a demon. Adam wasn't convinced they existed but remembered I had been. He tracked me down for a consult. By the time he got to my cell he was convinced."

Ripper looked concerned and Ethan reminded himself that Ripper had to officially care about such things now. He also made a mental note to tell Yama how Ripper had described him. Original flower child? One day Ethan would have to explain to Ripper quite how funny that description was.

"So was it a demon?" Ripper encouraged.

"You know you could always give me a proper debriefing later." Ethan tried, sighing inwardly.

It wasn't really Ripper's fault that he had an over-developed social conscience, but did it really matter whether it was a demon or not? It was in the past and both he and Ripper would be dead, buried and dust by the time the next thousand year cycle was up. At least he would be. And Ripper would be if he could manage to die peacefully in his sleep. If the next "Champion" needed some guidance then Yama was planning on still being around and he knew all that he needed to know. Admittedly Yama didn't tend to do the guidance thing as a rule but that wasn't either his or Ripper's problem. It was boring and irrelevant and there were a lot more interesting things that they could be talking about, or at least doing with their mouths. Still, if it made Ripper less antsy and made it more likely to get Ethan laid later then Ethan could live with the subject for a while longer.

Ethan slouched against the sinks and crossed his arms. Ripper grinned at him, a definite teasing edge to the smile. Ethan chose to take it as a promise.

"Actually in the end it wasn't a demon." Ethan conceded "Not what we would classify as a demon anyway. It was probably a Power or possibly a Lord of Chaos."

"What? But..." Ethan had expected Ripper to react like that and took a very satisfying pleasure at Ripper's expression. Yama was funny when he got his knickers in a bunch but Ripper was hilarious.

"I know." Ethan assured him. "And there is a good chance Yama unwittingly served it as well at one point. A very chaotic alliance don't you think?"

It was one of the advantages of serving Chaos - the hierarchy was fairly fluid. Lords of Chaos were really only very powerful Chaos demons, or things that had become Chaos demons. Ethan had considered it a time or two, especially as an option if Ripper died. Becoming a Lord of Chaos would be the only way for him to keep up with Ripper at that point but there were definite downsides. Such as having to become a Lord of Chaos.

Ripper sighed, another problem to add to the pile. "I am guessing you defeated it?" He asked hopefully.

"That was Duncan's job." Ethan considered how much to reveal but decided to take pity on his friend (lover?). In a perverse way he was rather proud of what he and Yama had done. Yama was trying to keep it quiet for reasons only known to himself so was nice to actually tell _someone_. If it hadn't been for the safety aspect he would have had a new paper in one of the magic journals before you could say 'what would the baby Cthulhu do?'. Ethan thought back to what had brought Yama to him. "Unfortunately, whatever it was, it won the preliminaries. Adam made sure Duncan was shipped off to somewhere safe and came to find me. We did the research thing and when we realised that we couldn't defeat it, bloody chosen one nonsense again, we distracted it to give Duncan time to regroup."

Ethan remembered Yama's fear over whether his precious Highlander would make it this time or not. Ethan had never had much time for chosen ones. Possibly because he had never been one himself but mostly because the majority of the chosen ones that he had encountered over the years had been chosen by themselves alone. Slayers were one of the few exceptions but that was what happened when you started messing around with essence of demon. Ethan wasn't sure if that made you a chosen one but it definitely made you special. And, from what he had seen, in every meaning of the word.

"Since the world hasn't been plunged in to Chaos..." Ripper appeared to mentally review recent events "Duncan did win, didn't he?"

Ethan smirked. "As it turned out what Adam has been telling Duncan all along was the key - 'everyone has both good and bad within them' and 'in unforeseen circumstances do nothing'. He's been wanting to say I told you so ever since, you should have heard his day-long rants on the subject, I think he was trying to set a record. Only he can't because then he would have to tell Duncan what we had been doing."

Which is exactly what Yama should do in Ethan's opinion. It probably hadn't helped that the side effects of their little spell had resulted in Ethan being in what was to all intents and purposes a coma for quite a while afterwards. Ethan had expected Yama to go whistling back to Duncan as soon as it was all over bar the shouting (and that generally involved Yama anyway). Ethan had actually been touched that Yama had stayed with him and looked after him until he recovered. The fact that Yama probably stuck around to see what Ethan had picked up from the link was just a practicality and a very sensible one. The 'why' hadn't really mattered to Ethan. He had needed Yama to be there when he woke up and Yama had been despite the fact that they had both known that Yama had really wanted to be with Duncan so he could see with his own eyes that his Highland chicklet was alright.

Ripper polished his glasses having fished them out of the sink. He caught Ethan's eye and Ethan found himself smiling. "Why can't he tell Duncan?" Ripper asked.

"Because it's _Adam_ and telling Duncan anything is against his religion. And because that would mean explaining how we did what we did." Ethan explained slowly. Like it wasn't obvious.

"Ethan." Giles growled.

Possibly it was less obvious to people who hadn't shared thinking space with Yama, Ethan conceded.

"Adam had worked out that the double quickening had linked them somehow although he didn't know how until I told him. We used the link to make Adam seem to be Duncan on a mystic level."

"You did what?!" Ripper choked. "How the hell did you do that?"

Ethan felt his pleasure at that reaction wash out of him in a wave of smugness. To the best of his knowledge what they had managed to do had never been done before. Maybe publishing was worth the risk. It wasn't like Yama or Duncan read Unnatural or even New Mage. At least Ripper would be able to appreciate the true genius of what he had done.

"Do you want me to explain the entire metaphysic basis to you or can you live with the explanation that I took as much of Methos' soul or quickening or whatever you want to call it as I could from him? With a bit of help he opened up the link between himself and Duncan to its fullest extent and used it to magnify the part of Duncan he got from the _Sanguineous Animantic_ ritual. And voila - he projected 'Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod' into the ether as loudly as he could."

"God!" Giles' reaction was gratifyingly sincere.

"Thank you" Ethan bowed, feeling silly and elated now it was over. "but I am not quite that powerful. Come back in a few years. You may worship me at regular intervals if you want though."

Ripper chuckled, a low sensuous rumble that vibrated up and down Ethan's spine. Giving Ethan a sly look he asked "You know what Adam is don't you?"

Ethan grinned "What, who, why and when. I'm missing the how but that had the effrontery to start with something other than a 'w' so I choose to ignore it."

Ethan knew it was flippant but faced with the enormity of his knowledge on that topic humour was his only defense. Ripper waited impatiently for Ethan to elaborate and Ethan waited, amused, to see how long Ripper would let him get away with saying nothing.

"So what is he then?" Ripper gave in.

"He is an Immortal." At Ripper's unamused look Ethan elaborated. "He'll heal and revive from any wound except beheading. I wouldn't advise testing that though as he gets tetchy. The only way to permanently kill one is to completely sever the neck. Don't ask me why, it is just one of those things." Ethan wondered for a moment if he should have given Ripper all that information but Ripper was a Watcher, as much as Ethan hated to acknowledge it, and the Watchers already had the information. They just hadn't chosen to share it with Ripper. Ethan chose to honour that decision by the breach rather than the observation of their policies.

Ripper wasn't laughing now. He was thinking hard. Ripper the thinker was actually one of Ethan's favourite incarnations, not that he would admit it. They had spent many interesting evenings up to their necks in old books and bouncing ideas of each other. It was especially good when stoned.

Ripper nodded as if that explained everything, which it really didn't. "And Joe and Duncan?"

"Duncan is." Ethan didn't think that was confidential, Not given the amount Yama had complained about Duncan putting his name out. "Joe is his Watcher, as you probably worked out."

"How can you be so sure?"

Ethan considered the 'Yama told me' option and then mentally shrugged. At this point Ripper could get the information from the Watchers but he would risk being transferred or his involvement investigated. Ethan knew too much about the way the Watchers operated to want to risk that, they had certainly tried to double-cross him enough times. Cheap Bastards. Now there was a chance, however slim, that he had found Ripper again and he wasn't going to let the Watchers take that from him a second time. Whether they knew it or not the Watchers needed someone like Ripper and, from what he knew from Yama, like Joe. Best to remove temptation, Ripper from asking and Joe from telling.

"Immortals can sense one another." That was the easy bit. Ethan took a breath and readied himself for the hard bit. "Adam helped me develop a spell that let me do it too. It is temporary and the range is still a bit crap."

It was a risk and Ethan knew it but it was a calculated one. It hadn't been a hard spell to create. If they had wanted to the Watchers could have contracted in people to cast the spell years ago but they were very cagey about sharing any information. Ethan could understand why. He could think of any number of demons who would love to get their hands on an Immortal or two and Immortals had enough trouble when one of their kind started recruiting mortals to their cause. All it took was one bringing in a demon or three and things would get really unfortunate. He doubted Ripper knew or cared about any of that though which is why he told him. And maybe, just a little, because he wanted Ripper to tell him how clever he was.

"Why would you want to sense Immortals?" It was sweet that Ripper honestly couldn't think of any reasons.

"Because dead is dead" Ethan pointed out "and they can't revive unless they can heal the wound." In Ethan's opinion it was as good an answer as any and both had the advantage of being true and avoiding any discussions on the other possible reasons you might want to identify, or hunt, Immortals. "Adam and I have been planning this for a little while. I needed a warning so I could revive Adam if any untoward Immortals dropped by for a tea and quickening."

"Is that Jacobs' or Digestives'?" Ripper was smiling again. Ethan tried to tell himself that the small leap his heart had given was just because that meant the interrogation would be over soon.

"Adam's."

Ripper's eyes widened in understanding. "That's why you ran back to the body?"

Ethan tried to shrug nonchalantly without pulling more of his shirt into view than was advisable. He really needed to get back to his hotel room and change. Silk and semen while a very good combination in some senses was a very bad one in others.

"Duncan was hovering like a bad storm. I had to try to get the bloody knife out so Adam could defend himself. And of course there was always the hope that he could explain everything and get me out of your clutches."

Ripper stepped closer and put that observation to the test.

"You don't like my clutches?"

Ethan relaxed into Ripper's arms. He knew he couldn't trust what was being offered but that wouldn't stop him taking advantage of it for as long as it was there.

"I could change my mind." He admitted as Ripper nuzzled his neck. "Would you want that?" It was a bit of a non-sequitur but it seemed as good a time to ask as any. Ethan realised that the question could be misinterpreted to one that he didn't want to know the answer to. "The chance to live forever?" He clarified.

Yama had told him about Ripper all those years ago and in typical Yama fashion had then left it up to Ethan what to do with the information. Ethan had investigated, considered and even done readings for every eventuality he could think of. In the end he had made a choice and despite the number of times he had changed his mind back and forwards over the years he had stuck to it. What he didn't know was whether it was, and had been, the right call.

A kiss, long, slow and devastatingly sweet. It wasn't a 'Ripper' kiss it was a 'Giles' kiss but Ethan didn't mind. Giles would always be Ripper to him as Adam, as Methos, would always be Yama. That didn't mean he couldn't accept the other aspects of their characters. Eventually.

"Only if it was with you." Ripper kissed him again and then shook his head "That sounded unforgivably sappy didn't it?"

"Fairly unforgivable yes." At any other time Ethan would have teased him mercilessly for it but he found he was in a forgiving mood. "Luckily I have more flexible moral standards than most people. Do you mean it though? That is the question."

_'Please'_, Ethan thought _'give me this one.'_

"You really want to know the answer?" Ripper was sounding confused again. Probably trying to work out why Ethan was so interested in what Ripper thought was a hypothetical question.

That was assuming he didn't know. That sent a shiver of fear down Ethan's spine. What if Ripper had known all along and had just been playing with him. Ruthlessly he pushed that concern aside and nodded. Oh yes, he really wanted, needed, to know.

Ripper didn't answer at once. Ethan was glad he was giving the matter some thought but the seconds that ticked by felt like a marathon. He was sure his heart believed he was trying to run one given the speed it seemed to be beating.

"I don't think I would want to live forever." Ripper said at last and Ethan felt himself slump in relief. To cover his lapse he twisted and started investigating Ripper's neck. "Not like they do. Maybe I would have liked to have another lifetime to spend with you having wasted so much of this one but... No, if I can spend the rest of this life with you then that is enough."

Shocked, Ethan responded in the only way he could think of: "Now _that_ was unforgivably sappy."

The arms tightened around him and for a moment Ethan felt panic threatening. It was what he wanted. What he dreamed of but it was never going to work and he couldn't get away. Ripper loosened his grip and Ethan was able to breathe again.

"Ethan?"

"Yes?"

"Do we need to lay down some ground rules?"

Ripper was serious. He was really serious about this. This needed time and thought and a strategy. It wasn't going to work and then things would be worse than before. Or one of them would be dead or not dead.

"Probably." Ethan prevaricated "But you know what I am like with rules."

Ripper wasn't going to let him get away with that Ethan realised with a sinking feeling.

The soft lips were kissing him back but the tone was unyielding. "Maybe you should suggest them then."

That was going to be difficult. Damn Ripper anyway. It had all been going so well. The spirit of desperate devilment gripped Ethan.

"No domestic violence." That would do for number one Ethan decided. "The non-domestic violence was... well what it was but... If we can't stop now then I think we have a problem that we need to deal with."

He felt Ripper's arms fall away and turned to him. Time to face the music. Better now that later at least.

"You think that might be a problem?" Ripper's face was solemn, even earnest.

Ethan felt the world lurch again. This had to be a spell of some kind. Ripper didn't act like this. Most of the time _he_ didn't act like this. And yet... and yet...

"Not an insurmountable one or I wouldn't be here." Compared with all their other problems the fact that they had spent half their lives beating the crap out of each other either physically or emotionally was nothing. "I am not ruling out a bit of rough hankypanky but I am sure you will agree our relationship hasn't exactly been flowers and chocolates for the the last few decades. Which brings me to the next point."

"Maybe I shouldn't have suggested this." Ripper joked weakly but Ethan noticed he didn't say to stop.

They were facing each other again, almost in the same positions they had stood earlier but this time there was no tension building between them just a sense of expectancy. They were paused at a moment of decision, they could step back and leave or they could step forward and leave together. Even the prickle of the chaos patterns underneath Ethan's skin were still as they waited to see what would seed them to new and dizzying formations.

"You are a Watcher." Ethan resisted the urge to expand on his opinions on that topic further. "I might not understand or approve but it is part of who you are and who you want to be. Although I have retired as a professional I am a Mage of Chaos, a very good one I might add, and while..."

"I might not understand or approve it is part of who you are and who you want to be. " Giles sighed "That isn't going to be easy you know."

The chaos patterns surged, splintered and reformed. Even in Chaos there could be small pockets that were passed by, the people who slept through the storm unscathed although it destroyed everything around them, the pawn that never moved in the chess game... It couldn't last forever but sometimes it lasted long enough.

Ethan grinned merrily "We are going to have some spectacular stand up rows." He wasn't sure why that thought pleased him but it did.

"Just so long as they don't get physical" Ripper didn't seem to recognise that the time for seriousness had passed. Ethan swayed forwards until they were not only toe to toe but body to body.

"Well not until the make-up sex." Ethan promised. He burrowed inside the tweed and made a determined effort to free Ripper's shirt. Strong hands caught his, and directed him away from the ticklish areas of Ripper's waist. Unfortunately it also prevented him from attacking Ripper's clothing. They really would have to do something about Ripper's wardrobe sometime soon, it was much too... fuddyduddy. He remembered yelling that at Ripper during one of their many arguments in Oxford. Maybe the trick was just to sneak some new clothes into the wardrobe. Or as Chaosday gifts. And the great thing about Chaosday was that it moved randomly about the year so Ethan didn't need to remember which date he had claimed it fell on.

"You are..." Ripper began.

They looked at each other, both suddenly struck by the knowledge that this was it. That they had actually reached this point and it wasn't a joke.

"Incorrigible?" Ethan suggested softly.

They hovered, not kissing but enjoying the moment of anticipation.

"Going to make my life much more interesting." Ripper finished and although his tone suggested that he wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not his smile gave his true feelings away.

"Count on it." Ethan did kiss him then. "Can I be there when you tell the children?"

Giles groaned. "You just had to bring them up didn't you. Your sense of timing needs work.."

Ethan rubbed against him, temptingly. Neither of them would be good for anything for another hour or so but that made it all the better. They had done quick and insane. Slow, building seduction was next on Ethan's agenda. He was sure Ripper would table the motion in minutes just as soon as he caught on.

"I am fairly sure they are going to notice my wandering around and taking liberties with your person." Ethan demonstrated. "You could try and convince them they were imagining it. That would be fun too. There should be plenty of opportunities for us to work on my 'timing'..."

Ethan was pleased so see Ripper's eyes glaze and pressed his advantage, and more than a few parts of Ripper. They separated some minutes later, breathing heavily and it was Ripper that pulled away. Not only pulled but, to Ethan's disappointment, stepped back and hunched in on himself slightly.

"Buffy and Dawn are pretty exclusively in Italy at the moment. You aren't the only one who has retired. Willow spends most of her time in the States which means the only person who actively dislikes you in London is Xander." _'Ah.'_ Ethan understood the gloom that had sapped away at Ripper's strength now. The little ingrates had deserted him again. Maybe he should thank them for practically pushing Ripper back to him. He was sure they would appreciate his sincerity on the subject. "There is Andrew as well of course but I don't think you two have met yet." A thought appeared to occur to Ripper as he groaned. "God. You are going to hate each other."

Ethan ran through all the names he could remember, not that he had paid that much attention to the mewling gaggle. They had apparently expanded, how sweet.

"Why?" Ethan supposed that was in fact a rather silly question to ask. Even if this Andrew had not met him in person he had probably been told stories about the nasty, evil magician. Maybe he could use that. Even if he wasn't allowed to actually _do_ anything to them then a little harmless looming could make life a bit more bearable if he had to spend any time in the saccharine wholesomeness of their presence. Ripper rolled his eyes and Ethan realised he had probably been a trifle transparent in his thoughts.

"Imagine you at fifteen." Ripper commented with a note fond disapproval. At least Ethan hoped it was fond. "Only a virgin with a looser grip on reality and a more puritan upbringing."

What was Ripper worried about? It sounded like Andrew would be highly entertaining. Ethan didn't hate the people he teased, not when they provided him with such amusement.

"I was a..." Ethan stopped. Ripper really hadn't known? They had both been pretty out of their skulls that first night. Given what Ethan had been willing to do for money he shouldn't be surprised that Ripper had obviously credited him with more experience than he had. It was probably lucky he was a fast learner. Best not to spoil the illusion Ethan decided. They had both had enough shocks for one day. "hmmm... Have you considered getting him laid?"

Ethan wondered how much like himself Ripper thought Andrew was. Not that Ethan played for any team per say. Chaos tended to fail to recognise this concept of teams and Ethan had suited Chaos and much as Chaos had suited Ethan.

"Ethan!" Ripper was trying not to reveal that he found it funny and was failing dismally. He had always been very expressive, one way or another, it was one of the things Ethan found comforting about him. "One of you is definitely enough. I should thank my lucky stars that the two of you will probably be too busy clashing heads with each other for you to corrupt him any further than he has managed to corrupt himself."

Ethan raised an eyebow. "Ripper! What are you implying?!"

Much to Ethan's joy Ripper turned an interested shade of pink around the edges.

"Not _that_, as you well know. Unless your taste in partners has changed drastically he just isn't your type." Ethan was staring at his type and so didn't bother commenting. There were so many differences to notice, catalogue and disregard. Ripper sighed, not Ethan suspected because of him. "Andrew would have been too young for you when you were his age let alone now. Of course knowing my luck he will decide you are wonderful."

"Which I am." Ethan pointed out.

So Ripper did have his suspicions about the latest cuckoo to invade the nest. Ethan could read between the lines easily enough. If the kid had decided that Ripper was wonderful then he would soon learn that Ethan had a prior and mutually recognised claim. He couldn't promise that the territorial snideness would be pretty though, he rather suspected it wouldn't.

"I'll find it funny." Ripper warned "I expect Xander will find it disturbing." And they would both find that funny although neither of them was about to say so. They didn't need to.

Ethan wasn't sure if the alternative was worse. He didn't want a disciple or a student and the thought of an enthusiastic fan dogging his steps made him want to reach for his copy of 'Fun Rituals for Chaos Mages'.

"And I won't be allowed to turn him into a toad I presume."

Ripper's response was not encouraging. "He would probably love it if you did."

"Oh. Like _that_." Ripper tried to look disapproving so Ethan kissed him again. "Poor Ripper."

"You can stop that for a start." Ethan chose to believe Ripper was referring to the mock sympathy rather than the kissing. The kissing Ripper seemed to be actively encouraging. He wondered how long they had until the others came to find them. Would they be shocked? Ethan did feel rather in the mood for doing something shocking and outrageous. Would the Eiffel Tower look better pink? Or the Arc D'Triomphe rainbow? Either would suit his mood. He might have to share his planning with Ripper. Ripper would either come up with a something suitably outrageous or spend his time thinking up ways to distract Ethan from carrying out his schemes. Either would be an acceptable outcome.

Maybe he should see if Ripper felt like joining him consecrating a few more pubs before they went back and faced the massed tweed army. Ripper had to be owed some holiday. Ethan would even offer a compromise - there were a lot of good pubs in London and the home counties and that way if there was a real emergency then Giles could get back and bring Ethan along as additional support. It might be a good way of being reintroduced; swooping in, saving the world, having a pint and then forgetting to swoop back out again. Probably not worth starting a small Armageddon for but definitely worth keeping in mind. Now he just had to think of a way to convince Ripper to join him for a few pints. Ethan slid his hips against Ripper's and got on with the convincing.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as Joe had vanished behind the privacy of the curtain Duncan whirled around and confronted his own personal bugbear.

"You were sleeping with Kronos?!" Duncan could hear his voice crack on the name.

Methos stood up so fast Duncan would have sworn he heard the displacing air snap. "You took his bloody quickening - how is this news to you?"

"But..." Duncan stopped and looked away from the other immortal.

"Say it MacLeod." The words were ground out between clenched teeth.

"Why?" Duncan whispered, not knowing how to express as words the clamour of the quickening storm that was going on in his head.

Duncan knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the syllable slipped from his mouth. Methos exploded up at him with all the genialness of a concussion grenade.

"Because he was the best fuck I have had since the fall of Rome!" That set off a skitter of unwanted, stolen memories that Duncan did his best to ignore in the face of the danger stalking him. "Why the hell do you think!?"

They were standing facing each other, both fallen unconsciously into fighting stances. One moment Methos was all but spiting the words out as if they tasted foul in his mouth and the next Methos was giving him that opaque look he seemed to have perfected, head cocked to one side as if he was regarding a strange creature that had done a clever trick and he was wondering if it would do it again. It was a look Duncan had seen often enough to irritate him as it always made him feel like some type of performing animal. The hazel eyes were daring him but to do what Duncan didn't know. The visions certainly made lots of suggestions. The visions... consciously he reached for them and the memories slowed and rewound, flickering like a broken film.

"Cassandra." Duncan whispered, the words meant more for the past than the present.

Duncan had never liked being laughed at and what bubbled forth from Methos' lips was definitely not a nice laugh.

"You think I did it for her?" Methos sneered. "That there was some noble choice that got made over who got to be Kronos' entertainment for the evening? You have met me haven't you MacLeod?"

Duncan clamped his lips shut of the insidious memory of exactly that choice being offered... _It had been the answer that had been of interest to him rather than any particular desire for the girl. Methos had been right - she was just like all the others. What he wanted to know was what Methos would do. Whether he would offer himself up to protect her. She hadn't mattered then any more than she had mattered all those millennia ago. Just another pawn in the game with his favourite brother..._

Methos had obviously read the look on his face. "If that is what you want to believe Highlander then don't let me stop you. Just don't come yelling at me when you realise you were wrong."

"Why do you always have to do this?" Duncan pleaded. The images were threatening to drown him now he had called them. _Methos stretching. Methos begging. Methos writhing._ "Why can't you just tell me?" _Methos screaming. Methos touching. Methos lounging._ "Just given me a reason." _Methos coming._

"You want a reason?" Methos hissed "How about because I wanted to get close to him? Or because I liked the feel of the power I had over him when he lusted after me. Maybe because it was always like that between us. Or, hell, because scheming makes me horny."

Methos stalked forward and Duncan retreated as much from the words as from the dangerous energy that he exuded.

"M...Adam..." Methos had backed him against the bar but still he came on, crowding closer.

"No, don't stop me MacLeod. I'm on a roll here. Oh! Because I'm prettier then Silas and more fun than Cassandra. No? I am, but we won't go there. And, speaking of which, we mustn't forget the 'sacrificing my precious virtue for hers' response. My virtue is definitely debatable but you seemed to like that idea. And, of course, I liked it! Haven't had that yet, have we? I'll admit I enjoyed it more when I wasn't dead to start with. Foreplay is so much more interesting when you aren't a corpse. But, sex with Kronos - I loved it. Or doesn't that fit with the right image? How about because he held a sword to my throat and would have taken my head if I hadn't? Is that better? Because fucking me made him feel more in control which made my life expectancy a lot longer? I call that the 'Kronos was sexually fucked up' theory. I like it, I think he would have done too. Or how about the 'Methos is sexually fucked up' theory - I have a kink for leather... or knives against my neck. You better watch out for that one. You've done it a time or two yourself. I can't tell you how hard that got me. Then there was the plan to wear him out so I could whisper my plans in his ear when he was asleep and influence his planning without him knowing it. It didn't work or there would have been more beer. Or..."

"Damn it Methos! Stop!"

Amazingly Methos did. Even going so far as to move away a few feet. Out of sword range Duncan noted. Methos was not contrite however, the eyes that were focused on Duncan were watchful and unapologetic. The last time that they had had this sort of showdown everything had been anger and regret. This time regret had already skipped town.

"What?" Methos demanded "I've given you lots of reasons."

Why did Methos have to make this so hard? It wasn't like this was Duncan's idea of a great time either. He just had to know. Had to know what Kronos had that had drawn Methos to him. Had to know what it was that had made Methos not only stay with him but go back. Duncan wasn't sure he could have explained why he needed to know. He just did and he knew it was important.

"Which one is it?" Duncan demanded.

It was just unfortunate Methos didn't seem to understand, something which, Duncan had to admit, was pretty much the normal state of affairs. He just wished to could work out why Methos was so pissed about the whole thing. As it was he was doing a remarkable good imitation of a cat that had been dropped into a cold bath. Not a cat, Duncan amended, a panther. A cat would hiss and spit and take swipes at you. A panther would take your head off while it was doing it.

"You have his memories." Methos growled. "Maybe between the both of you, you can work it out. And while you are working it out see if you can figure out why it matters to you so much?"

"Because..." Duncan stopped, unsure why but needing to not see the history hiding in those angry eyes. Not to see the infinite echoes of hate, rage, calculation and ecstasy. And not to see any hint that Methos might understand, and worse might understand better than Duncan did.

"Thought so." There was a calm finality about Methos' voice "Now if you will excuse me, we are not having this conversation."

"Yes we are."

"Not any more. When you want to have it sensibly... I'll be around."

And with that Methos left.

Duncan watched him go but as the curtain swirled shut behind him all Duncan saw was the fall of a tent flap.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	10. Chapter 10

"Do you think it is safe to go out there?" Giles wondered aloud. As much as he didn't really want to face the world again the men's room of a bar was not the ideal place to hang around. At least he didn't need to worry about the man in there with him getting the wrong idea. It would have been practically impossible at that point no matter what the idea was. The smirk on Ethan's face was vaguely worrying him and he wondered what the other man was planning. He was sure he would find out soon enough and rather than apprehension a bolt of anticipation shot down his spine.

Ethan shrugged and stepped away from Giles' embrace to check his clothes again. They both looked rather more rumpled than that had when they came in but Giles didn't think that there were any visible stains showing anywhere. Ethan, less easily satisfied, fiddled with his shirt and Giles took the opportunity to check that weren't any other clues to their activities. Left to himself Giles knew Ethan would have happily left a mess behind, Giles just wasn't sure if it was thoughtlessness or a twisted way of boasting. A thought that quickly sparked another.

"What do we tell them?" Giles worried. They really were too old to be doing this sort in the men's room of a pub. He didn't voice that thought though - Ethan would just makes suggestions about using the ladies next time.

"I doubt we need to tell them anything," Ethan shrugged. "Adam will have worked it out and so will Joe if he is worth his paycheck."

Giles groaned but just got a unrepentant grin in return.

"Just be glad we left the pub standing this time."

Giles had forgotten about that. "It was an accident." He insisted "How were we supposed to know that it was a support beam?"

The memory did make him feel better though. As Ethan said had pointed out at least they hadn't broken anything this time. Hopefully Joe would be too pleased that he didn't have a dead body to deal with, and one that didn't come back to life, that he would forgive whatever else he might suspect they had done to each other. At peace and assured the room was all in order Giles waited by the door for Ethan to finish dicking around. He didn't think Ethan was actually doing anything. Ethan had always had to be the last one ready, taking even longer than Deidre had. Giles had always suspected a large part of that time had been spent just sitting in the bathroom waiting for everyone else to finish so Ethan could make an entrance as well as an exit. In this case it was an advantage because it meant that he could open the door for Ethan and usher him out first. Ethan liked to make entrances and since this was not one Giles was looking forward to (just how loud had they got?) Giles felt he should oblige him. He doubted his politeness had fooled Ethan in the least.

As it was the main bar area was practically uninhabited and rather dark. It's lone occupant was sitting in the shadows of a booth and nursing a glass of something amber. For a moment Giles wondered how long they had been in the bathroom until he realised the the makeshift blinds had yet to be removed.

"Oh dear, did we miss the invitations to the other party?" Ethan asked brightly.

'Duncan', Giles remembered. He hadn't paid the man, the Immortal, very much attention earlier. Between meeting Joe again and everything with Adam and Ethan... Giles set about rectifying that lack as the man looked over at them.

_'Strong'_ was his first reaction. Duncan was unmistakably a fighter. Giles wondered whether this was a personal choice or if Ethan had left a few things out of his recital. Or more accurately Giles wondered if one of the many things that Ethan had left out was related to this point. Adam had never struck him as a particularly violent person but he had had to revise that in light of Ethan's comments about Adam's one man commando raid on the Initiative. Given the experience they had had with the Initiative in Sunnydale Giles could appreciate how much it must have taken to do what Adam did. It was... awe-inspiring. And not a little frighting. If Adam could do that then what could this man do? This man whom Ethan claimed had defeated something comparable to a Power or Chaos Lord.

If threat assessment was his first thought then _'Attractive'_ was his second. Giles hadn't had many male lovers in his life but that didn't mean that he was blind. It was a sensual face, full lips and dark brows that were currently drawn together in thought, dark hair that was tied back into a short queue. It was the sort of face, and the sort of body, that was made for fantasies, at least of the romance novel variety. And now that Giles thought about it what was that book that he had confiscated from, of all people, Andrew and Dawn, at the airport? He was sure he had given it to Buffy for safekeeping but he had no recollection what had become of it after that. That had been about a Duncan Macleod if he remembered correctly from the blurb on the back. He wondered if there was any connection.

"I think they are in the back room." Duncan responded to Ethan.

There was a tiredness about man that Giles related too. Whatever was bothering him it went back beyond the events of the morning. Ethan was eying him suspiciously.

"Including Adam?"

Duncan's head snapped up and the two men glared at each other. Giles wondered if he should step in and on whose side.

"How would I know?" Duncan said at last.

Ethan's eyes narrowed and Giles decided that it was definitely time to intervene.

"Ethan. Didn't you say you wanted to go and get some aspirin?"

Ethan stared at him as if he had grown an extra head, which around Ethan wasn't a phrase to be used in jest.

"_Aspirin_?" Ethan repeated.

Giles wasn't sure if Ethan was just being deliberately obtuse because he thought Giles was trying to get him out of the way. He was, but if Ethan couldn't think of one or two things that he could also get at the pharmacists then Giles was taking him straight down to the hospital to get checked out because his head injury must have been a lot worse then they had previously thought.

"Yes." Giles insisted. "Asprin for your headache. From the pharmacist..."

He saw the spark of pure mischief light up in Ethan's eyes.

"_Ah_. The _aspirin_. For my aching _head_..."

"Go Ethan." Giles shooed. At least their comedy routine had made Duncan smile. It was obvious at that aspirin was the last thing Ethan was going to get although, knowing Ethan, he probably would buy out all the available packets to make a point.

"There is a spare key behind the bar if you want to go out the front." Duncan offered.

"Oh I don't know" Ethan mused "Maybe Joe and Adam would like some aspirin..."

Giles darted behind the bar and found the key hanging on a keyhook under the bar.

"Here." He threw it to Ethan who caught it deftly unlocked the door and threw it back "The sooner you get that aspirin the sooner we can do something about that headache of yours." Giles didn't know why he was keeping up the pretense, he was too used to having youngsters underfoot he supposed. They wouldn't have been taken in either but they had unwaveringly clung to the belief that he was a-sexual in the face of available evidence and sense. Given any excuse no matter how insubstantial they continued doing so for the sake of everyones' sanity. Only Anya would have informed Ethan in a loud voice that Giles actually wanted condoms and lube and then would been surprised that the others tried to silence her. It astonished him that he missed Anya quite so much. She had been intensely irritating, self-centered and brash but she had had a refreshing way of looking at the world. Of all of the Scoobies she would have liked Ethan given the chance.

Ethan went but immediately stuck his head back around the door. "Any preferences for flavour?"

"Sorry?" Giles could hear Duncan trying to cover a laugh as he stared at Ethan.

"The _aspirins_ \- do you have any preference as to flavour if there is a choice?"

"Ethan." Giles put on his most librarian voice, it had worked with the children after all and Ethan was currently behaving like one. "I have no preference in brand, colour, flavour or design. Use your, and I say this with some trepidation, best judgment."

Ethan blew him a kiss and was gone, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Sorry about that." Giles apologised. He wasn't entirely sure what he was apologising for but around Ethan it was often a good idea on principle.

Duncan shook his head and waved the apology away.

"Another?" Giles offered. He wasn't sure what Duncan was drinking but he hoped that Duncan would tell him. Not that he would admit it but he could do with a drink himself. Who knew..? Giles could feel a smile blooming as thoughts of earlier watered and fertilized it. He knew now at any rate. Following Duncan's directions he retrieved the bottle of single malt and a second tumbler. Bringing them to Duncan's table he pulled up a chair.

"The first time I met Adam" Giles began slowly after he had poured for them both. "I stormed into his shop intending to beat the living daylights out of him." He could feel Duncan's interest but kept the story addressed to his glass. He was fairly sure that whatever was bothering Duncan, Adam was involved somewhere. He might have been a little out of it earlier but he hadn't been asleep."It was early closing day" he continued "and he was in the middle of taking a ladies yoga class. I mean he was instructing the class rather than participating. Needless to say my charging in caused a bit of a stir."

Duncan chuckled. "What did he do?"

"Told me to shut the door, take my coat off and take up the downward facing dog position." Giles shook his head at the memory. "And I did it too. Never been so embarrassed, especially when he started walking around and correcting our postures. He made me do the entire bloody class. And then charged me for it!"

"That sounds like Adam." Duncan admitted. "You don't mean to but you suddenly find yourself doing things... thinking things..." He trailed off.

He was definitely on the right track Giles concluded. He decided he should continue with the story and see where it led.

"Having charged me he then offered me a beer and invited me up to his flat, he lived above the shop, to watch The Prisoner. It was a repeat of course but I hadn't seen it first time around so... When I get up there I find Ethan lounging on the floor smoking something illegal (which he always claimed was the only way to watch The Prisoner). That brought me immediately back to the reason why I was there in the first place... Ethan, of course, greets me with 'Ripper, dah-ling, are you here to save me from the mean man?' which didn't help the situation. It was just downhill from there." Giles reminisced. "I still haven't seen all of that episode. I keep hoping that someone will get me the DVD boxset but so far my hints have been studiously ignored in favour of socks."

Giles looked up to see how Duncan was taking this information. The dark eyes were lowered but he looked thoughtful and a little amused. Just as Giles was wondering what to say next or indeed if he should say anything at all Duncan spoke.

"The first time I met him he was sprawled on the floor of his bedroom listening to his Walkman and surrounded by books. There was someone trying to kill him because of his job in the Watchers and Joe sent me to look after him. He must have known I was coming and that I would be able to tell he was..." Duncan trailed off.

"Immortal." Giles supplied "Ethan explained some of it to me."

Duncan nodded. "So I feel the buzz and walk in wondering if I am too late to do anything except avenge his death and he just looks at me. I could have been the guy coming to kill him for all he knew. I ask him if he's Adam Pierson and he says 'Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Have a beer. Mi casa es su casa.' and throws a beer to me."

Giles raised his glass in a silent toast and drained it. Duncan raised his eyes from his own drink slowly and looked at Giles.

"You know what Joe said to you earlier?"

Giles nodded.

"I think it might be good advise to consider but..." Duncan shook his head "Why does he have to be so...?"

"Ineffable?" Giles suggested. "Bloody irritating?"

Duncan smiled briefly. "It is fine most of the time but every time we have a disagreement..."

"He was always like that." Giles assured him. He wasn't sure if that was good news or not but he remembered being relieved when he discovered that Ethan was just as acidic to everyone else as well.

Duncan looked interested "Did you know him well?"

Giles chuckled. That was definitely one way of putting it. "In my much younger, wilder days. I wouldn't say well" he confessed "but well enough".

_'Well enough to sleep with'_ Giles remembered fondly but in those days that hadn't meant a lot. He would have had more luck naming the people he wouldn't have shagged after a good night on the town. He and Ethan had never been exactly monogamous even when they hadn't shared. Although now Giles thought back he remembered they had somehow become pretty exclusive by the end - he just hadn't noticed. However while Ethan and Adam hadn't been particularly subtle about their prior relationship, Giles assumed that was because it had been revisited more recently. Thanks to Ethan being bloody-minded earlier it seemed unlikely that Duncan hadn't put two and two together. Or in this case one and one.

Whether Duncan had guessed, or even whether he had speculated about Giles' relationship with Adam, Giles wasn't sure he wanted to know. He certainly wasn't about to volunteer the information. Duncan was Adam's friend rather than his. He had a feeling he would like the other man if the spent time together and even slightly hoped that they would meet again if Ethan and Adam kept in touch. But right then it was up to Adam how much of his and Giles' intimate past he wanted to reveal. Given that, it was probably a good thing that Ethan was at the shops. When it came to other people's sex lives, or even his own, Ethan wasn't known for his discretion and tact. Giles still shuddered when he thought of the time Ethan had met his grandmother.

"Was Adam..." Duncan paused to reword the question. "What was he like then?"

Giles looked around the gloomy room. The lack of light made what would otherwise be a friendly bar look uncaring. Ethan would be gone for a little while. Adam and Joe were ensconced in the back room and had showed no sign of reappearing and here, he felt, was a kindred spirit who needed to talk. For the first time in weeks, maybe years, Giles was feeling that the world was, on the whole, a good place. The least he could do was stop Duncan from having to drink alone in a darkened bar.

"Let's let the light in, get another round of drinks and I will tell you whatever you want to know." Giles hoped that wasn't a promise he would come to regret.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	11. Chapter 11

Methos was seething and he knew it. He shouldn't get cross with Duncan but sometimes it was so hard not to. The man was stubborn, infuriating and, damn it, part of him. Oh, he was going to do something extremely unpleasant to Ethan as soon as that reprobate reappeared. He was only lucky that Duncan was too busy obsessing over Kronos, _still_, for him to have jumped on Ethan's not-so-little "slip" about that bloody ritual Ethan said they managed to do in Bordeaux. He could still hear Ethan's frustrated cry of _'How can you perform a_ Sanguineous Animantic _by accident!?'_ The problem was of course that even if Duncan had forgotten, Joe most certainly hadn't. _'There is a reason I don't bring my friends around'_ he thought. At least everyone was still alive. He wasn't worried about Ethan and Giles. They didn't really want to kill each other. He just hoped that they would work out exactly what it was they did want to do before one of them managed to seriously injure the other by mistake. The fact that they were still in the men's room and hadn't come out at at the sound of raised voices was either very good or very bad. Methos had bet himself a bottle of Macleod's Scotch that it was the former.

As he expected Joe had not in fact gone very far at all when they had all but kicked him out of his own bar. Not so much Watcher as Listener. Neither of them said anything until they really were in Joe's office.

"You had something to add, Joe? I assume you were listening." Methos knew that the attack was instinctive rather than sensible but at that moment didn't care.

Joe pulled up a seat and sat down carefully. Methos could feel the other man living up to his job title and unfortunately not one of the bar related ones. He patrolled the room, filling the need to do rather than sit. Not taking his foul mood out on Joe wasn't going to be easy. He could do it, just so long as the man didn't try and humour him. He was definitely not in the mood to be humoured. Or questioned if it came to that. Methos tried to center. He gathered the emotion to him and released it. Not that it went far. That was what you got for getting philosophical teachings from a movie. It was back to the monastery in Tibet if he wasn't careful. Still there were some advantages to be gained from having that sort of control over one's body. And Joe and Duncan thought he went there for the meditation, ha!

"You missed one." Joe commented at last.

Methos whirled from his pacing. "One what?" He demanded.

Joe didn't appear phased in the slightest. This annoyed Methos just slightly less than it pleased him.

"You were improvising." Joe pointed out "It normally heads your list."

Methos smirked "Ah yes. How could I forget? My memory as well as my Watcher."

Methos regretted it even as he said it. He didn't want pick a fight with Joe as well. His discussion with Macleod was definitely on pause rather than finished. Unfortunately. The fact that whatever was bothering Macleod might be his fault teased at him. Ethan had worried that there might be side effects - it was one of the reasons Methos had stuck around Duncan quite so much after he had made sure Ethan was alright. Or as alright as Ethan ever got. Methos had thought everything was going fine, just a bit longer and he was going to stop worrying. And then Duncan had started acting a little strange. Methos had tried to find out what was going on. He hung around Duncan with all the tenaciousness of a limpet. He noticed that Duncan seemed to have a special obsession with his beer so he drank more in the hope of drawing Duncan out. If Duncan would just tell him what the problem was rather than getting hung up on past history they might get somewhere... But that would be too easy. Much better and so much more Scottish to suffer in heroic silence.

Joe gave him a disproving look. "That was uncalled for."

It was. That was the most annoying thing. Methos was being unfair, especially to Joe. Methos sighed mentally. He knew better than this. There was just something about Duncan that got under his skin. Especially recently. That didn't mean he should allow himself to be rude to Joe. The days when he could take his bad moods out of the nearest slave or the next village were long gone. He was fairly sure that Kronos had deliberately wound him up just to see what would happen to anyone or anything that got in his way. That covered about three hundred of their thousand years together. But no more. He had made the choice then to be a scholar rather than a raider and he made it every day when he didn't kill Joe for his insolence or shoot Macleod and remove his stubborn head from his stubborn shoulders. Not that there weren't much more interested things he could do to Macleod. There were times when he missed the old days. And at times like that he made an extra effort not to reenact them.

"But not untrue." Methos could feel the anger beginning to drain away finally. "You are right though. I am sorry."

"Who are you and what have you done with Methos?" Joe demanded. Methos humphed. "I think that is a first. I need a drink."

Methos knew where the special stash was in the back room. If it wasn't himself and Macleod drinking there so often he would have worried that Joe was hiding alcohol around the bar. There was a very high incidence of alcoholism in publicans after all. There was probably an even higher one in Immortals but luckily they were spared any of the longterm physical drawbacks so no one cared. He and Duncan just did their bit to keep Joe's alcohol consumption down by self-sacrificingly drinking it themselves. He was fairly sure Duncan even paid. He set Joe up with a single and himself up with a double.

"Aren't you going to ask Joe?"

At Joe's glare he added another splash to Joe's glass.

"Ask what?" Joe measured the different amounts in their glasses with a professional eye. "Which of the reasons it was?"

Methos took a sip before Joe suggested he had the glasses the wrong way around. "Yes."

"If I was going to ask I would ask which of the reasons it wasn't..." Joe shrugged "But I'm not. You did what you did because it seemed like the best thing to do at the time. Or because you fancied a good shag. At least I hope it was good. Wouldn't be the first time you got yourself in trouble because you couldn't keep it in your pants."

Methos choked, sending burning alcohol along passages not normal intended for such use. That was one way of cleaning the sinuses. It was almost a shame Immortals didn't get colds.

"Joe! I am shocked." Methos had expected Joe to be more _au fait_ than Duncan with the concept of a relationship between himself and Kronos, if only because it had affected Joe more peripherally, but that was more of an extreme reaction that he had ever hoped for. The temptation to pick Joe up and shake him like a magic 8-ball to see if a different answer floated to the top streaked naked across his conscience. He concentrated on what Joe was saying instead.

"You haven't been shocked since the third century. Have another."

Now that was something Methos could go with.

"Fourth. BCE." Methos topped up his glass "But who's counting?"

Joe held out his hand for a refill. "You apparently."

Methos' bad temper had been forgiven and they were friends again. That was good. He didn't like being on bad terms with Joe especially when it was his doing. He didn't like anything when there was the chance it was somehow his fault. That was probably one of the reasons that whatever was going on with Mac was troubling him so much. He resolved not to think about it for at least another glass. Bringing the bottle with him so it would be in reach if needed he sank down into his favourite chair. Toasting Joe companionably they both settled down to drink and wait.

"Y'know," Joe said after they had both given their drinks the attention they deserved, "this wasn't exactly what I expected when I said you could borrow the bar for an hour."

Methos cocked his head and gave Joe his 'whose-fault-is-that'#3 look. "And what did I say when you asked why I wanted to borrow it?"

"That you had to meet a friend about a human sacrifice." Joe conceded.

It wasn't like Methos hadn't told him. Maybe he hadn't made it perfectly clear that he wasn't joking or that the sacrifice would be taking place on the bar but Joe hadn't asked either. Just told him to make sure he cleaned up the blood when he was done. Which he had planned to do. If people hadn't interfered then he and Ethan would be well away by now and enjoying their success, probably with some illegal substances for old times sake. Methos could just about understand Duncan and Joe's attitude on drugs but Ethan was old enough and experienced enough to make his own decisions and Methos' personal crop was rather fine this year. Sometime soon he would have to start leaving around few articles on the effects of cannabinoids on phantom limb syndrome. He had put quite a lot of money into that research in the last few years after all. It might be too little too late but it was something he could do.

Methos gave a half-shrug and spread his hands wide. There wasn't really any other answer that he could give.

Joe shook his head in impressed disbelief.

"You sanctified the bar just so you could have somewhere to drink in peace!?"

Methos was willing to admit it wasn't quite as good as the time he has started a religion that held that beer was sacred. He had run that brewery... temple... for nearly a hundred years before they got stamped out as a heresy. Religious intolerance at it's worst. Probably best not to mention that. Joe and Duncan got a bit snippy when he suggested he had interfered in the religious beliefs of mortals. Like you could control what they believed. If you could do that reliably than you really would be a god.

Methos grinned at Joe over his glass. "And your problem with that is?"

"I'm just... impressed." Joe confessed. "And amazed you didn't try and pull it sooner. But next time..." Joe gave him a warning look, "a little tidiness wouldn't go amiss."

Methos hadn't really been planning on doing it again. Once every thousand years was enough for him. When one was younger then maybe once a year was understandable but, as you got older, some things just seemed less important. For a start the dominant religion had often shifted. More critically he disliked the vulnerability of it. He had taken all the precautions he could and still the morning had nearly been a disaster. But then Methos lived for 'almost'. It had kept him alive up until now.

"What can I say?" Methos questioned innocently "I didn't expect it to start raining boyscouts."

Joe wasn't fooled. But then he never was, he just pretended occasionally for Methos' benefit. That was why Methos liked him. Among other reasons.

"What did you expect? It was a human sacrifice! I'm sure they are never that tidy even when the victims pick up after themselves at the end."

Methos had picked one of the least messy methods! It wasn't like they had gone for a bloody eagle or a disemboweling. Now they made a mess. And the smell! He doubted he would have been able to talk Ethan into it. Ethan would quite happily cause the equivalent of a natural disaster as long as he wasn't what he considered personally responsible for anyone's death. Death with wibbly bits was pushing it a bit even when Ethan knew he was coming back. After all the rest of the things that Methos had put Ethan through he didn't want to add to it if he could avoid it.

"My mistake - I should have listened to the weather forecast more closely this morning!" Methos commented sarcastically. "Overcast with fifty to seventy percent chance of Highlander precipitation. A Mac advisory has been issued."

Methos smiled to himself. Oh he would take his Mac, advisable or not, if he was given half a chance. Joe was less impressed with Methos' sense of humour.

"You should go easy on him. He has a lot on his mind at the moment."

Methos' guard went up immediately, carefully detaching the rational, thinking part of his brain from the rest of him. He made no external reaction because the part of him that was listening and feeling was no longer connected to his body. Compartmentalize or die - that was how it worked.

"And you know this because?" Methos asked carelessly.

"3am." Joe said slowly. Methos could feel the eyes watching him but they meant nothing. Obviously finding what he was searching for or not finding what he was fearing Joe continued. "I think it is better than a truth drug."

"So are you planning on sharing?" Joe's eyes were on him again but they wouldn't find anything. There was nothing for them to find.

"No." Joe said carefully. "Firstly because what he told me he told he as a friend and it isn't going any further. Not to the Watchers and not to you." Methos could respect that. He might not like it when it was applied to him but he could respect it. Of course that wouldn't stop him from trying to change Joe's mind. "Secondly because I think you already know."

Methos wished.

"Maybe..." Methos agreed. If Joe thought he knew what was going on then he might be more open about what he knew.

"So what is going on with him?" Joe demanded.

That was the downside of hinting you had knowledge that you didn't. It was also when a reputation for never answering questions or giving advice helped a lot.

"There are a few possibilities." Methos hedged. "If I am right, which I might not be since you won't tell me..."

"Get on with it." Joe interrupted.

Methos took a steadying sip of his Scotch. He had at least another drink to go before he wanted to think about this but apparently his schedule was being rearranged for him. Friends. Who needed them. They got you in trouble. They hurt you and they asked you really difficult questions. Couldn't live with them, couldn't stake them out in the sun and watch them die.

"He is having trouble with memories." Methos said with a lot more conviction than he felt. It would explain some of the symptoms but he had no evidence. "Specifically other people's memories. Memories of me. Do stop me if I get it right."

Joe didn't bat an eyelid but Methos could see the tightening of Joe's jaw and the twitch of Joe's forehead. He was on the right track at least. Joe was almost as easy to read as Duncan.

"You just keep talking." Joe told him.

Methos took another sip. He was going to need it.

"Either he never settled either Kronos' or Byron's quickening. Or " Methos couldn't resist adding "one of the others he got from someone who knew me."

That was payback for Joe making him go through this.

"Who..?" Joe pounced on the comment and then the flicker of awareness that Methos might be setting him up rippled over his face. "Never mind. Given the timescale it seems unlikely - he hasn't taken any heads that recently."

Joe wasn't the only one concerned about the timescale. The thing that was most likely to have caused it, his little magical outing with Ethan, was long passed now. Something must have happened to trigger what was going on and Methos had no more idea than Joe what it might have been.

"Then something de-settled it." Methos argued logically.

"Ahrimon?" Joe wondered.

That was definitely too close for comfort. If he told Joe what he had done it would take a bit of judicious blackmail to stop him telling Duncan. Methos hadn't missed Duncan's tenseness when the subject came up. It was the only time that the Highlander hadn't grilled him on where he had been. It hurt them both that Duncan thought Methos had just deserted him but it would hurt a lot more all round if Duncan discovered what Methos had actually been up to. Mac really didn't like it when Methos stepped in to what he saw as his fights.

"Of course something like that has never happened before and is highly unlikely." Methos pointed out. As far as they knew. Maybe that was what had happened to the last Champion, why he was off his Immortal trolley when he beheaded himself at Duncan's feet. Maybe it was what happened to every Champion. Methos really hoped not. He didn't want to admit it might be his fault but he would infinitely prefer that to some cosmic retaliation that Duncan had to suffer because he saved the world. Methos had lived through thousands of years which might have been described as the world having been dropped into Chaos. Hell, if he ever felt like not taking responsibility for his own actions then he could just claim that the Champion had obviously lost that year and the Horseman were a divine punishment. It was a load of crap but what else did you expect when you started blaming external forces. The important point was that he had lived through it and so had a lot of other people. If the ones who hadn't were the price for the Champion's sanity he would raise Kronos from the dead himself and stab his re-enlistment papers into his own chest. No, it couldn't be that.

"Unlikely like a demon." Joe pointed out.

Methos winced mentally. "I would have said so before. But having spent a year with Ethan..."

Bugger! Well it was bound to come out at some point. Pretend it was a deliberate tidbit.

"That is where you were!" Joe exclaimed as if he had proved the Goldbach Conjecture or found the cure for cancer.

"Yes Joe. That is where I was." Methos maintained his facade through long years of practice. If he believed it wasn't anything important then maybe he could get Joe to believe it too. There were times when he could have really done with Cassandra's little voice trick.

"Are you going to tell him?" Joe had at least picked up Methos' reticence. Methos wondered what Joe thought he had been doing. A year fucking an old flame while Mac was going through hell? Now if Methos had just thought of that first then he could have spent a nice relaxing year failing to get a tan on a beach somewhere.

"I wasn't planning on it." Methos fixed Joe with the same look Joe had given him earlier "And I know you wouldn't repeat a conversation you had as a _friend_."

Joe sucked in a breath. "That's low."

"Joe?" Methos insisted.

"Alright." Joe agreed angrily "I'm not going to tell him either. He probably knows anyway. You did."

Methos finished of his drink with a decisive action and settled further into his chair. Joe wouldn't like it but he would do it. For a while anyway. Joe would break eventually if Duncan pushed but when that happened it would be when Duncan needed to hear it. This might actually work out better than his original plan.

"Ah but I know everything. I am a fount of wisdom." Joe pulled a face at him. "Don't be like that Joe. It's for the best."

"Yes but whose best?" Joe grumbled.

There was only one answer to that: "Mine, of course. Who else did you expect."

Methos reached out an arm and snagged the bottle. It was a difficult technique to get right, pouring a glass of good Scotch with grace while becoming one with a chair but Methos had mastered it soon after all the essential ingredients had been invented.

"So if it wasn't something to do with Ahrimon?" Joe asked.

Well Methos hadn't actually _said_ that but he wasn't about to correct Joe right at that moment.

"Or O'Rourke." Methos named the other most likely contender for the 'what has screwed with Mac's head this time' prize. He was pretty sure it wasn't anything to do with O'Rourke and the infamous vision Macleod occasionally dropped hints about which was why it was a good thing to mention.

"He told you about that?" Joe asked surprised.

Humm... What angle to take to answer that... "No, I broke into the barge and read his diaries."

Joe glared at him but couldn't quite hide the amusement that mingled with the irritation.

"There are times I am glad I don't know whether you are joking."

There were times Methos was glad as well. Many of them.

"As I have told Macleod - that is part of my charm." Methos let Joe bask in that charm for a moment. "The point is that if it isn't anything external it must be something internal." He wasn't appreciated, really he wasn't.

Joe looked unconvinced. "You know what happened that last time we thought he might be going mad."

Like Methos could forget. He still got the dreams. Infinitely worse, Ethan still occasionally woke of screaming because of what Methos had made him go through. That was the killer. Literally. Methos sent a stay prayer to one of the Gods that Ethan believed in. If anyone could help Ethan it was Ethan's Ripper. However it was not the time to worry about those two. Reassure Joe. Cure Macleod. That was the current agenda.

"Joe. I am insulted. You think fantasising about me is a sign of madness?"

"Do you want me to answer that?" Joe scoffed and then relented "Anyway it isn't you. It is the Horsemen."

Methos reminded himself that you couldn't rip Joe apart with horses as his legs would just come off. He did his normal calming exercise. Ten - slow strangulation. Nine - disembowel with dull spoon (he had liked that one so he had borrowed it). Eight - Whisky enema/impalement. Seven - beat to death with own leg... By the time he got to 'one - behead' he was in the right frame of mind to continue the conversation.

"Then why didn't you say so?" Methos asked mildly.

"Are you kidding?" Joe hooted. "I got more information out of you in the last ten minutes than I have in the last ten years. Not to mention sheer amazement at the size of your ego."

It was nice to know these things about your friends. Methos smiled and showed teeth. Had Joe really not seen?

"You're wrong." Methos told him. Damn it. Joe needed to stop being smug and listen.

"What about?" Joe sounded so pleased and sure of himself that Methos hated taking that away from him.

"He might be seeing me as I was then but he isn't looking at me as a Horseman." Methos knew what that look was like. The raw betrayal and disappointment. The loathing. The painful extinguishing of that last spark of hope. The desperation. That look on Duncan's face had branded itself in his memory. Even afterwards, after he had put it all as right as he could do, Methos had seen variations of that expression directed at him when Duncan thought he wasn't looking. Different aspects had been in ascendance at different times but it was still the same. Maybe if Amanda hadn't dragged him back then Duncan would have come and found him in his own time when he had worked through his feelings about Methos' past. Maybe then it wouldn't have hurt so much to see the pain in Duncan's face when the Highlander looked at him.

"Do you want to say that again so it is understandable by us mere mortals?" Joe looked confused but he was listening now, intent on Methos' words. Methos spared a moment to wonder if Joe had played him. He decided this once it didn't matter.

"Think about it Joe." Methos insisted. "Is he reacting like every time he looks at me he sees me slaughtering innocents or like he sees me..."

That was the frightening thought. The one Methos didn't want to say aloud. He knew it was silly but an upbringing, or at least the closest he could remember, that held if you named a thing you gave it form and power was a hard one to throw off. Especially now that Ethan had told him that sometimes it was true.

"Methos." Joe prompted.

"Like he sees me as Kronos did." Methos whispered.

"Which is where we started." Joe began angrily and then something stopped him. Methos suspected it might be himself. "Methos? You know something don't you?"

The possibilities swirled around Methos' head. All the pieces spinning and interlinking. Except there were some missing. Methos couldn't see the pattern yet but he could see some of the holes. Sometimes when you could see the shape of the missing information you knew where to look to find it. In this case there was a big Duncan shaped gap. If they just knew what the trigger had been... But maybe they didn't need to know. Maybe the trigger was a red herring. If they ignored the trigger then everything nearly fell into place.

"Methos!"

Methos blinked and realised that Joe had probably been saying his name a few times. He quickly rewound the last part of the conversation in his head. Joe was giving him that look again. The one that said he wanted to be annoyed but was too amused to get there. 'Cute' was second nature to Methos after all these years, a second skin that he pulled around himself. It made people underestimate him, forgive him, protect him, sometimes even fall in love with him when he needed it. But sometimes left him trapped in these conversations, wondering how much truth to mix in with lies and how much evasion to mix in with the truth. It would be so easy to kill Joe. Mortals were so fragile. Just move slightly to the side, shift his weight like so and he had the choice between delivering a long, slow lingering death and Joe's soul being in the next life before his body realised it needed to stop talking. He wouldn't though. He didn't. The knowledge was there, would always be there but the person he was for now would never act on it.

"I know many things Joe." That was nicely ambiguous and gave him time to reassess where he was in the conversation.

"That isn't an answer." Joe objected.

_'No shit!'_ Methos knew he was stalling but he needed time. The explanation was there. He was beginning to feel the shape of it in his mind.

"I'm sorry. What was the question?"

Joe was definitely losing patience. "What is wrong with Mac?"

"You want the list?" Methos couldn't resist.

"Right now what I want is a straight answer" Joe wasn't yelling but Methos almost wished he was. Joe yelling he could get around, Joe determined was like a titanium battering ram. "I realise from you is like asking for world peace." Joe pinned him in his seat with his eyes as a lepidopterist would a moth. "What did you do to him?"

"Me?" Methos protested.

Joe wasn't letting him off, not that Methos expected him to.

"If it wasn't you then why are you avoiding answering the question?"

That was the million euro question wasn't it. Had it been him? He was willing to concede that he had probably set up the circumstances under which whatever that happened happened. He had used Kronos and Silas' quickenings to bridge the gap between the part of his quickening that was in Duncan and the part of Duncan's quickening that was in him. That he could justify. It had been necessary. It had kept Duncan alive and sane. But had he been the trigger as well? Had something he had done, consciously or subconsciously, been the catalyst?

"Because it might have been something I did" Methos confessed. "But the timing isn't right."

"The timing?" Joe asked.

To tell or not to tell? To stay or to leave?

"This can't go in the chronicles Joe. Not even in your private journals. And no telling Duncan either. He doesn't need to hear it right now. If he needs to know later then I will tell him."

Joe looked at him and Methos looked right back. It wasn't like Methos wanted to tell _anyone_. It was just embarrassing. Not to mention being potentially dangerous for Ethan. If Joe wasn't going to give him this one then Methos had no compulsions about walking out of the door. Ethan and Giles were big boys, as he knew well, and could manage on their own when they finally surfaced. He let all of that show on his face so that Joe would know that he wasn't bluffing on this one.

Eventually Joe nodded. "I don't write it down and I don't tell Duncan. I don't like it Methos but if that is what it takes..."

"That is what it takes." Methos took a deep breath. Where was that damn bottle? "What Ethan said earlier about the Duncan and I and the ritual... he wasn't making it up just to shock. It is a real ritual used by mages and demons to create a bond between people. It isn't done very often because it has a whole host of requirements, not least one same-species sacrifice for each person being joined. And of those sacrifices a certain number have to be willing. Somehow, and the fates know how, we managed it by accident."

Joe was looking at him wide-eyed. "But surely you needed a willing sacrifice."

_'Oh Brother did you know? You fucking bastard! If you weren't dead I would kill you myself! Do you know how much I miss you? You did this to me!'_

"And at the last minute we had one." It felt so good to say the words. He could hide these things within himself. Bury them so deep that although they tore at him he could ignore them. But it took time. Such a long time before the pain numbed and the memories lost their vicious hooked spikes and razor edges. The right person could help dull those jabs and cuts, help speed up the process. Methos poured a splash of Scotch that practically bounced out of the glass he drank it down so fast. "The destruction of the Horsemen he could take, until I told him otherwise he had already thought us gone. But to know he had finally lost me... That I would betray him that completely... It may be total arrogance but I think that was too much." Methos could here his voice hitch in his throat as the words fought not to be said and made real.

"Kronos?" Joe whispered in disbelief.

"In some ways it was his final revenge." Now Methos had started he couldn't stop. "He got to give Duncan and I the memories that he knew would hurt us most."

"But you were with him. Duncan getting information he didn't want I can understand, but you?"

"Oh Joe" Methos sighed knowing he could not escape the inevitable now. "There was once an Immortal who was very old and very wise..."

"You." Joe smirked.

"Don't interrupt Joe. I don't do this very often. Where was I.. ah yes, very old and very wise and very tired. He had seen as much as the world as he thought you could see and he had been all of the things you could be that he was interested in being, and a few he wasn't. Then one day he met another Immortal." The memories were painfully beautiful. Seductive, powerful... You had to control them or they controlled you. "Much younger than himself and filled with a fiery passion to set the world to rights. Not that this other Immortal was perfect." Joe chuckled at that "He was a warrior, and a good one, but he saw it as his duty to use that strength to help others. He was regarded as a hero. If there was some silly fool who needed rescuing or some wrong to avenge... off he would go, often against sage advice."

"From yours truly." Joe teased.

Methos glared at the interruption but nodded. "And when I couldn't talk him out of whatever he had got himself embroiled in I ended up getting involved just to keep his precious head on his shoulders because I thought that if anyone should get the prize then it should been him."

Not that they had heard of the mystical prize then, but Joe didn't need to know that. It wasn't a lie, just a backdated frame of reference. And it hurt. It still hurt.

"So this is all about Duncan getting the prize?" Joe hearing what he wanted to hear. Methos wished it were true or at least he could leave Joe with his delusions. Did you rip the bandage off fast or slow?

"See, this is why you shouldn't pay attention rather than interrupting. I was talking about Kronos. Those are the memories he left me."

_Kronos riding out of the sun, tearing into the bandits that were attacking the caravan... Kronos buying the beaten slave in whom pre-Immortality glittered so he could raise him as his son... Kronos laughing at the children playing as he took flowers to the shrine of the Goddess... Kronos clasping his arm and pledging friendship and protection..._

"You are kidding me." Joe pleaded with him, with history.

"Would I kid about something like this?"

Methos was more than happy to spin stories for an appreciative audience. He had been doing it for most of his life. But some things you didn't need to make up because the story was already there. Methos poured them both fresh drinks. The bottle was beginning to run low which was a shame because the conversation wasn't over by a long shot.

"Probably. But you aren't, are you?"

Methos looked around the room. The Watchers' records, the bar's records... this was where history was written. It was as good a place as any to tell it as well.

"No Joe. I am not kidding." _'I wish I was'_ "When I first knew Kronos he was... he was a national hero. Admittedly nations were a lot smaller back then but... He was a good man. One of the best."

_Honourable, determined, so open and honest..._

"What the hell happened?"

"What do you think?" Methos snapped.

Methos could see the flow of ideas across Joe's face as he tested each possibility against the available evidence.

"A dark quickening?" Joe hazarded, no little awe in his voice.

Methos shrugged. _'Pretend you don't care'_ he told himself. Sometimes you could convince yourself that it was true.

"That's the best explanation I have. One day sanctimonious do-gooder, the next... well you know the next. I've seen four dark quickenings in my life, or what I think were dark quickenings. That was number one."

Duncan, of course, was number four. One lost, one dead and two saved. Was that a good record for interventions?

"What happened?" Joe asked softly. He understood some of it now or thought he did. As close to understanding as a mortal could ever get. Methos had ridden with Kronos, fought with Kronos, loved Kronos while generations were born and died. And Methos had never noticed what happened until it was too late. Just one minute Kronos the Great and the next...

"He killed his student. And recruited mine. Not that I can blame Silas, I wasn't exactly challenging Kronos either and Silas was many things, but the sharpest sword on the rack wasn't one of them. He had idolised Kronos even before they met. It wasn't a hard sell."

"And Caspian?"

"You know what they say - last in, first out." Methos shook his head, not meaning it that way but knowing his smile was mocking. There was too much history there - you either laughed or you cried and Methos had done his crying for his dead, until the next time their numbers swelled. "I don't know why I am telling you this."

"Because I can accept it."

"How? How can you accept it Joe?" Methos felt tired. He was damned if he was going to justify himself. He wouldn't do it for MacLeod and he wasn't going to do it now. But sometimes it was... wearying... always being in the wrong. Still, better weary than dead. "I _was_ there. If I had to make the same choices again I would but sometimes _I_ have trouble accepting some of the things I have done"

"You really want to know?" Joe sounded like he wasn't sure he wanted to tell. "You won't like the answer."

Methos cocked his head and regarded his friend curiously. "Yes Joe. I want to know."

Joe shrugged. "Because it is meaningless to me. It's ancient history. If we were talking ten or fifty or even a hundred years ago then I expect I would have had a problem. So if you have something to tell me on that score then now would be a good time or make damn sure I never find out about it." Methos worked to keep his face impassive. There were things he had done in the last hundred years that could take a bit of explaining. Vienna had been a wonderful city with a wonderful population. So wonderful he had missed the warning signs of what had been happening across the border and been forced to improvise when the border suddenly wasn't. Before Alexa, it had been the last time he had risked his life for a lover. Before Kronos had returned and offered him the world it had been the last time he had tasted power and the last time he had watched a lover die at the hands of someone who he had been trying to help. No, it was not something that Methos would tell willingly. He forced himself to just look at the mortal in front of him and listen to his words as if they had no power to bind him or hurt him. "But three thousand years..." Joe's voice held a note of wonder "I just don't have a frame of reference so, yes, I accept it like I accept Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun or Boudicca or Alexander. And no, I don't want to know how many of them you knew."

Methos laughed but it was a bitter sound even to his own ears. "An interesting collection. I am not sure whether I should be insulted or flattered. Of course all your examples were demonised by their enemies but loved by their countrymen. We were hated by everyone. And rightly."

"Maybe you had all your countrymen riding with you." Joe suggested quietly.

Methos looked at Joe, honestly surprised for once and willing to let Joe know it. In those bright eyes Methos could almost see lush jungle burn under napalm and shrivel screaming as agent orange rained down. He had been enjoying the cultural explosion in Britain during the sixties and seventies but he could remember the BBC news reports of public opinion in America turning against the war. There eyes met - green and hazel; sunlight on the forest leaves and dead, decomposing foliage staring back at each other across time and memories.

"Maybe I did." Methos agreed.

"So how does this relate to the ritual? Is Macleod getting the inside track on what it was like to be around in the bronze age Kronos' the revenge you mentioned?"

Methos sighed. Joe apparently felt that a change was as good as a rest when it came to conversation and so had gone inexhaustibly back to the seeds of this whole diversion. Methos wondered if Joe realised just how many stories he would be willing to tell to avoid this discussion. His single mindedness suggested he didn't.

"Partly. From what Ethan has said I believe Silas' death gave the ritual power. Kronos' drove the bond. However because it was a double quickening as well everything got mixed up and rather than the normal take-head-get-power I got some of Silas, but I also got some of Kronos and, I think, some of Duncan. I don't know if it was accident or design but as far as I can tell Duncan ended up with all the more unpleasant memories and I ended up with..."

_....The laughter, the friendship, the joy... Training Silas and their ongoing battle to convince the man who had started out life as a woodcutter and charcoal-burner that a sword really was a better weapon than an axe even if you couldn't easily make a fire with it... The stray animals Silas adopted and carefully nursed back to health... The day he presented Silas with his first horse and taught him to ride... The day they met Kronos the legendary defender of the weak and helpless... The day Kronos was declared champion of the city and the night that followed... The day he introduced Kronos to the woman who would become Kronos' beloved fifth wife... The day he married the two of them, Silas beaming from the audience as tears rolled down his round, happy face... Kronos' grief when she had died of wasting sickness barely thirty years later... The quiet evenings discussing the world over wine... The games of skill and chance they played to while away a quiet day... The arguments over Kronos' latest good causes or his honourable morals. Should he take comfort in the fact that Kronos was right and those morals and causes hadn't got him killed?_

"...I guess you could say all the good times. Ethan and I tried to use the link to help hide Duncan when Ahrimon was after him. To give him a psychic low profile." That was definitely all Joe needed to know about that. "Using the link might have stirred up the memories, made them more readily accessible. Since Kronos' memories were the ones that made the bond those would be the most disturbed."

Which was appropriate - Kronos had always been more disturbed then Silas.

"Shit." Joe said. Methos looked at him, wanting to see what Joe thought of the revelation that Methos had been doing something to help Duncan during that time he was gone. It was Joe that looked away.

'You said it Joe'. Methos knew he could have dealt with all the memories of the atrocities. After all he had been doing that for three thousand years. Instead Macleod got all the horrors and he had got a forcible reminder of how good it had been before the horsemen became something to be feared. Methos had his own recollections but they had become faded and sullied by the events that had followed. Both Kronos' and Silas' memories had been bright and hopeful, clean of any stain or shadow. _'They had been my friends'_ Methos wept in his mind _'my brothers, my companions for hundreds of years'_. Even at the end he would have saved Silas if he could have because of that friendship. Hades, he would have saved Kronos if he could have. Unfortunately he knew, even as he died at Kronos' feet for the first time in a millennia, that the man had not changed. After that he was more interested in saving himself. By all the Gods and Goddesses it still felt so raw, a bleeding, agonizing place with his memories. He would not cry for them. He would not morn them. He had paid his dues to the chthonic deities. He had shed blood and tears and semen for them and burned their bodies, his grief offered up on the same funeral pyre to comfort them in the afterlife. He was cleansed and it shouldn't hurt so damn much any more. But it did. He would not give in to the pain. He was Methos. He was beyond this. And he would damn well join Kronos in Kurnugi before he cried for him in front of Joe.

"So how many was it?" Joe asked Methos gruffly.

Methos blinked at him. "Was what?"

"Earlier, of that list. How many did you know?" Joe was trying to change the subject again. It was nice of him, Methos thought, but it was too late. First Duncan, now Joe. He felt tenderized and the only thing he could do was marinade himself.

Still Joe was trying. He had certainly given Methos more understanding than Methos had ever expected. Methos decided Joe deserved a hint, especially if it helped him put the Horsemen out of his mind for a while. His equilibrium was shot to hell, his humours were out of balance and he felt like shit. Definitely time to retreat and regroup before he made an even bigger fool of himself than he had already.

"One." Methos answered. He forced his mouth into a slightly crooked smile. It was the best he could manage. But discussing the Horsemen further or confessing to not being a virgin - that wasn't even a choice. "Not _well_ but I knew that one..." He drained his glass and upended the bottle to get even the last drops in replacement before he finished, "intimately..." Methos eyed Joe and breathed in the fumes of the revered last portion, daring the other man to comment on that revelation as he savoured the smell which was all damp peat, fog and nothing of distant desert.

"Well that narrows it down to one then doesn't it?" Joe looked far to happy as he said it.

Methos considered the list. Genghis and Attila he had given a wide berth and done his best to put at least a continent between him and them. If he had wanted that type of action he could have just gone and got Kronos back out of the well. Boudicca - well there was only one way he would have been able to get intimate with her and he had given that up a millennia before. The Horsemen had pretty much guaranteed that he lost any taste he might have had for anything but alive and demonstratively willing. Oh, the temptation was still there occasionally. Not for rape, as such, that had never been a chosen hobby, but the were other things... other ways. Ways to make them want you, beg for you, against all evidence and sanity. Ways to make the body scream with need while the mind screamed in denial until the latter gave up in defeat. Power and freedom combined into a heady drug, even laudanum had not come close, and it would have been... would be... just so easy to say 'damn the consequences', to free himself from the shackles he had created for himself and to revel in everything that he was and could be.

Methos pulled himself back from the memories before he got lost in their seldom trodden but familiar paths. Joe was looking at him, obviously recognising the 'immortal having flashbacks' pause that was an occupational hazard of their eidetic memories. Perfect recall or total amnesia, everything was extremes for them whether it was their minds or their personalities. Somehow the middle ground always seemed to be a casualty of the first century.

"You don't normally make it that easy for me." Joe pointed out, apparently believing that Methos was back with him.

Methos shrugged. Joe might have guessed right or not. It didn't really matter. _'I was Alexander for Hephaestion and Hephaestion for Alexander'_ Methos thought. Now those two had had a very fucked up relationship. Not quite hitting the level that he had managed with Kronos he was willing to admit, but a good try none the less. Methos knew it could have been much worse, even with the slightly less than voluntary sex, he had, at least, been substitute rather than scapegoat. It was definitely the best of his periods of slavery, and it was a time he didn't mind remembering. That, as his past went, was an achievement in itself. There had even been a few highlights that he still pulled out of their mental mothballs to warm himself on cold winter nights.

Methos remembered the Persian court fondly. It had been a nice restful place to spend a few decades, right up until the Greeks followed him out there. He had beaten them to Babylon by half a century but, he had always considered, they had had to stop off and have a number of political discussions first. His biggest obstacle had been making sure his invite had included all the portions of his anatomy. Luckily the Persians had had legends about immortals, or something close enough. Not exactly right, but right enough to be usable; eternally beautiful, wise, accomplished, and reborn virgins each morning. _'That was us'_ Methos thought wryly _'the most experienced virgins in history'_. They had even had their own special section of the harem, restricted to all but the most favoured.

The special treatment aside, the best thing had been the library. Not as good as the one at Alexandria had become, but at that time it was probably the best he had seen. Definitely top three. The Persians had been decades ahead of their western neighbors in so many fields. There had been theories and treatises that would remain unknown in Europe and Egypt until the coming of the Moors. The beer had been lousy, of course, but the wines, spirits and drugs had just about made up for it. And none of that mixing with water crap. The Greeks and the Romans - united in being so tight that they made a virtue out of watering down the drinks. It had just been a international pissing contest to show their water was drinkable. The winner might still be undecided but at least the beer had improved over the years.

"My mistake." He acknowledged and saw Joe's eyes narrow as he immediately began doubting his dedications. Methos allowed himself a small smile and was warmed by a glare in return. Perfect. He heard the noise of many footsteps in the passage way - perfect timing as well.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	12. Chapter 12

"Adam." It was the first thing Duncan could think to say as he entered the room.

Methos looked up at him and Duncan was surprised to see that the hazel eyes looked distinctly watery. Maybe it was just the miasma from whatever had been in the readily demolished bottle the rolled, label down, on the floor between where Joe and Adam were sitting. Joe in comparison was studiously not looking at him. What the hell had they been talking about Duncan wondered. He didn't think he had seen either of them that upset before and certainly not both together.

"Adam" Duncan started again. "Please could I have a quick word?"

In his peripheral vision Duncan could see Ethan and Giles both making 'do it' gestures. Methos rose with a lot more grace than he should have been able to given the amount of Scotch he must have consumed to help Joe empty the bottle. He wandered passed Duncan, putting his glass with its lonely dregs on the table as he went. As he got to the door he looked back over his shoulder.

"Come on Macleod. We have old battlegrounds to revisit." With those ominous words Methos disappeared down the passage.

Duncan followed him, trying to work out exactly why he had bothered moving from the bar area at all given he was heading straight back there. Probably because he had expected Methos to put up a fight or at least a defensive retreat. Only the prickle of Methos' quickening at the edge of his consciousness as he had talked to Giles and Ethan had convinced him that the man hadn't left the bar as he had more than half expected Methos to do. It just meant that their talk was coming sooner rather than later, because it was coming. Duncan wanted this talk. Well, not wanted. Given the option he would rather have been staked out in the sun with the skin flayed from every part of his body just as Methos had been when... No! That was the problem. That was why, despite all of Duncan's misgivings and embarrassment, they had to have The Conversation. Their laughable attempt earlier had done nothing except piss Methos off and confirm that the visions were real, or at least real memories. If that was true... If that was true then Duncan was even more confused than he had been before. About Methos, about Methos' past... about everything.

Serious, immortal to immortal talks with Methos were like sticking your head into a psychotropic tar pit; totally opaque and not so much mind-bending as replacing reality with the unique new version that would have done Escher proud. However if that was what it would take then that was what Duncan would do. A frightening thought made even more frightening by the fact that he hadn't had to drag Methos back with him by the scruff of his neck. Part of him had been looking forward to that. That was frightening too.

The only speck of light on the horizon was that Methos had also wanted privacy, or the illusion of it. The brightness might turn out to be an oncoming train but private meant the tap room, the bathroom or the empty rooms above the bar. Of those the bar was by far the easiest. After all hadn't he and Giles been talking in there for that last goodness knew how long before Ethan had returned from buying his "aspirin".

It was a good place to talk and Giles had been a good man to talk to. The jury was still out on Giles and Methos's mutual friend but Duncan had decided at some point in their conversation that Giles was one of the good guys. And he had to admit that Ethan's often tart comments could be very funny when he was in a position to appreciate them. The man appeared to have a surprising amount of loyalty to Methos but not at the expense of a punchline. Despite what Methos and Joe sometimes claimed Duncan knew that he was normally fairly relaxed and playful. He had felt the closest he had been to normal in weeks, if not months, while he had swapped stories with the other two men. It was what he needed to fortify himself before he resumed his conversation with Methos. There was just something about talking to Methos that made him feel like a salmon fighting its way upstream. He wondered idly if half way up the river the fish ever questioned whether it should bother? But some instinct called him, as it did them, and told him that whatever awaited him at the end of his struggle was worth the journey.

Having taken the initiative, Methos was waiting for him when he reached the bar. The older Immortal was sprawled on the chair that Giles had been sitting in earlier and was examining the dirty glasses that still remained on the table with forensic curiosity. To Duncan's annoyance his presence was ignored in favour of a contemplative sniff of one of the empty glasses. They had all been drinking the same thing so Duncan was sure that Methos couldn't work out whose glass had been whose but at the same time he wouldn't have bet against it.

"About earlier" Duncan started. He had this uncomfortable, sinking feeling that normally meant he should be apologising for something but the words wouldn't form in his mind let alone his throat "I..."

Methos finally put the tumbler down and gave him the full raised eye-brow look of interrogation.

Duncan felt himself flushing. He was over four hundred years old, feeling like a gawky teenager was not something that happened to him often these days. Despite Amanda's edge on him in years she never made him feel younger, the opposite if anything. For all his 'I remember when this dirt was primordial ooze' Methos didn't do it often either but when he wanted he could give Duncan that 'look' that both made Duncan squirm and made him sure that Methos had been a parent at some point in his long life. It was a look that had definitely been honed on miscreant children and their unlucky suitors. The look mellowed, finally, to a smile.

"Difficult isn't it?" Methos commented wryly and with what Duncan hoped was sympathy. "We should go for a stroll it is always easier to talk then but if we leave now Joe will never let us back in again. Ever."

That was certainly not what Duncan had been expecting but now that he thought about it they did always seem to go for the 'walk and talk' style of conversational gambits in the same way Amanda went for the catered dinner for two with fine wine. Duncan wondered if it was one of those little habits that developed with age. He knew Amanda did it because she thought a good dinner, fine wine and the promise of 'dessert' would give her the advantage in any disagreement that might arise. At the least it suggested incentive for why her head should remain atop her body. It occurred to him that maybe Methos liked walking conversations so he had a head start if he decided to make a run for it. Duncan suspected that his personal style, if he had one, involved drawn steel and confrontation. He was working on changing it though - no more swords to Methos' throat. Duncan thought of the bitter litany that had ended their last conversation and tried not to wonder if Methos would miss it.

Methos apparently decided he had been quiet too long for he moved the glass he had been playing with away from him like it was a chess piece and said "So what is it this time? The past or the present?"

Duncan wondered how he was supposed to answer that. That he needed help because the past was not so much impinging on the present as forcing it over a barrel and having its wicked way with it. And the past, if what he had been given a front row seat for was indeed the past, had been very wicked indeed.

"Both? Neither?" Duncan tried.

Methos rolled his eyes. "Well which is it Highlander? While I am planning on living for a few more millennia I don't intend to spend all that time on this conversation."

Duncan wondered if that had been what his childhood priest had had in mind when he preached of hell. Duncan hadn't noticed that Joe had started stocking up on pitchforks and the fire and brimstone was lacking unless Methos was providing that later but it was sounding a lot like Duncan's new definition of damnation. It also stung.

"I thought you found my moral dilemmas amusing." Duncan snapped back automatically. He needed to say something and it was the first thing that sprang to mind.

Methos gave him another of those searching looks he hated.

"Not when they involve me. Is that what this is? A moral dilemma? I never figured you were that narrow minded Macleod. Please don't tell me that you are tying yourself in knots because I was riding Kronos as well as riding with him."

Duncan's eyes closed against the mocking expression but the darkness behind his eyelids was no refuge against the indelible outline burnt from long exposure onto his retina or the conjured images of Methos glistening with sweat, sex and satisfaction. Duncan wanted to say 'I don't care what you did with Kronos' but that wasn't true. He cared. He cared about all the people that the Horsemen had killed. He cared about all the women, and if the visions were anything to go by, men that they had captured, raped or sold into slavery. He cared about what they had done to Cassandra and her village. He had brought himself to the place where he could give Methos the acceptance that was all the other man asked but that didn't stop him caring. Failing that he wanted to say 'I don't care what you and Kronos did together' but that wasn't true either. Despite all the time he had spent asking himself how Methos could have done such things he had never really thought about it. Now he couldn't help it.

_Prove it. I want to see you fuck him. Fuck him or I burn the city and everyone inside it to the ground with your quickening!_

"No" Duncan whispered.

Methos was still looking at him, aloof and unreachable, and the events was spooling passed him again. Rewinding back to the beginning.

_Don't play coy Methos. You can't claim he isn't your type. It wasn't any secret that you were playing husband and wife with his brother before Caspian had him assassinated. Make your decision brother. It is a simple choice - either you are with us or against us. Which is it Methos?_

Back further...

_But there is still one left if you want him. Pretty isn't he. The ex-heir apparent. He would have made a good ruler. And if he is anything like his sisters he will make a good whore._

Further...

_I saved them for you but you took so long I got bored..._

Methos, dressed in white. Looking at him with that same closed expression.

_Aren't you enjoying yourself? You should. It was your plan. Your victory. But you forgot to claim your share of the spoils._

Ash and dust smeared across the tired, dead blankness of Methos' face. The grime and shadow created a half-mask such as celebrants wore at the high festival. And it was a time for celebrations.

_We rule Brother!_

It was the beginning but rather than the joy and exhalation he had wanted to see in his brother's face there was nothing. They stared at each other across the desolation of a lavish room and it's inhabitants on he wondered how to put something back of that expressionless face. He didn't care what he saw; joy, pain, fear, lust... even if it was a mask. He just needed to know his brother was truly with him.

"Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod." The insistent voice nagged at him. The words dropping like pebbles into his mind and he followed their path out.

Duncan blinked. Methos still stared at him. This Methos at least had an definite expression. Duncan estimated it was currently very annoyed and bordering on really pissed off. Probably because he had had to get up. Possibly because Duncan hadn't needed the slap that the twitch in Methos' hand as he walked away suggested he still wanted to administer.

"Sorry." Duncan tried to brush his lapse aside.

"Don't be sorry." Methos snapped, turning back to him. "Just don't do it again."

"What?" Duncan responded confused. Did Methos know? Or was it just that Duncan lost focus when he took one of his unexpected little trips into the past? That must be it Duncan decided. He was drifting off and Methos was irritated because he thought Duncan was being deliberately dismissive.

The hazel eyes narrowed to muddy-jade poniards.

"Let me see if I can help you." A pleasant Methos was a dangerous Methos. Although, Duncan had to admit an unpleasant Methos was dangerous as well. In fact a Methos in any form... Duncan dragged himself back to what Methos was saying. It was bad enough when he couldn't help not paying attention. Methos was looking at him sourly. "You decided, for whatever reason, that you would trip the quickening fantastic and interrogate some of those oh so tempting memories you inherited."

Duncan forced himself to keep breathing normally, to keep a smile fixed on his face and not to react. It occurred to him that he hadn't been smiling before but by then it was too late. If he had just had the strychnine to go with the _risus sardonicus_ he would have taken it and the easy way out of the conversation. It would be a lot quicker and much less painful. They all looked at him - the short-hair Methos with his white, sacrificial shirt, scholar's arrogance and piercing eyes, the fierce, armoured Methos who had haunted the dreams of tens of thousands and now haunted his, the indolent, sensual Methos who reclined on hard earned spoils of conquest and the kneeling survivor who was little more than a spoil of a lost battle himself. They flicked in and out of the bar and existence. The Athenian student, the Alexandrian anatomist, the Akkadian raider, the Sumarian priest... blood drenched, sweat drenched and sun drenched. All Methos and all talking to him, the words passing from one mouth to the next with no rhyme or reason behind it.

"Do I need to ask which memories were behind lucky door number three?" A silk-clad Methos asked sarcastically.

"I..." Duncan began. He felt he should be defending himself but he wasn't sure what the accusation was.

"You." Methos agreed, eyes fever-bright and his own blood clothing him.

Duncan wanted a drink or five. That was the only way that there should ever be more than one Methos, when the others were alcohol-haze mirages.

"I didn't mean to." He protested.

Methos looked at him curiously, wide eyes showing little hint of his normal intelligence as he drooled slightly. Defenseless, malleable and a killer. How long had it taken him to recover from that head injury? Duncan shivered. Crediting the Horsemen with anything went against every atom of his body but even he had to admit that without his brothers Methos wouldn't have survived long enough to regain that frightening intellect. The dull eyes shut to open again blazing with cold fire. The slackness of the face now taut with anger, the drool streaking his chin another fluid entirely.

"Do you ever?" Methos hissed.

That, Duncan thought, was unfair. He really should be having this conversation with the real Methos but he had lost him amongst the shadows.

"Maybe you just like it too much to stop?" Methos - on his knees and bound. "Is this what you want?"

Duncan cursed the arousal that he hoped was also someone else's as it uncoiled from the pit of his stomach.

"No!"

Methos' skin glistened in the light as he sprawled, naked and open. "Is this what you what? To know what it was like? To see with _His_ Horsemans' eyes?"

Duncan squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the heat of a body close to him. Feel the prickle of being watched on his skin.

"What is the real problem here?" Methos demanded. Duncan wished he could shut his ears as well as his eyes. He was the one that had pushed from this conversation but he hadn't actually wanted to have it. Hadn't thought Methos would have guessed so much and been willing to talk about it. Why couldn't they have had another one of their normal cross-purpose and misunderstood arguments where nothing was really said but he at least felt better afterwards. "Now you know what it was like to be a Horseman. Was it Cassandra?" The voice was softer, velvet against his skin but it still chaffed at him.

"It was you." The words were a painful blockage but with them gone from him the rest burst free. "I know what it is like to kiss you!" Duncan howled his denial at the uncaring man "I know what it is like to... to.."

"Fuck me?" Methos appeared to think he was being helpful by offering suggestions. At least Duncan hoped it was a suggestion not a 'suggestion'. He opened his eyes and focused on the slender figure in front of him. Methos yielded ground as Duncan moved forwards, propelled by the wave of anger and desire that those two small words on Methos' lips called from him. Weeks, months, of frustration spilled from him.

"Oh yes." Duncan hissed. He could hear the echo of another conversation and wondered if Methos could as well. "I've felt you, tasted you... watched you." He trapped Methos against the nearest wall. He needed something more - some outlet for all the emotions, both his own and borrowed, that battered him from within but he was only able to see the man in front of him "I've heard you moan and beg and scream. I've made you do those things. But I have never touched you."

Duncan wasn't sure which Methos he was talking to, it didn't seem to matter any more. They all looked at him with the same look of amused contempt.

"Are you saying you want to touch me?"

"No!"

"Then are you going to let go of me?"

"What?"

"Hands, Macleod!"

Duncan followed Methos' eyes down to where he had unconsciously grabbed the other man. With the buttons only loosely re-fastened against the coolness of the day the shirt gaped alarmingly open. Smooth, muscled skin was revealed, taunt and perfect where it had previously been marred by a sacrificial knife. At least one button was missing, probably lost as he had shoved Methos against the wall. He stared at his hands seeing nothing but his fingers, dark against the unbleached cotton, weaving in and out of the folds of the material. Blinking he looked again at the tangle of white cloth in his hands and reveled in the power he felt. The hard plating of the breastplate Methos wore under his coarse cloak prevented him from getting a better grip but the pale cloth held tight against the pale throat was enough. A single word would have been enough but not nearly as much fun. Against him the sun-warmed body panted its breaths as he pinned it, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. He could smell sweat, human and equine, but mixed with it the deep burr of myrrh and the sharper sent of blood. He knew the fragrance was due to Methos having come from the stables where he had been tending a cut one of the horses had got on its flank, but it was right. He breathed deeply, enjoying the musky, bitter scent. When they got back to the camp he would cut his brother every night and rub salve on the wounds just so he would smell this way again. All day he had held his peace at his brother's request while he had grown more bored and frustrated. Now he wanted payment for that frustration. And he was going to get it.

The slender lips felt full under his and parted before his will as the enemy did before his blade. This was joy. This was victory. This was power. The walls had been breached so long ago that the invader was welcomed in as a friend; but still his hands tightened in the cloth, pulling it tighter across the slender, vulnerable neck. They both knew that there was no possibility of flight or resistance, only surrender. Only ever surrender. Mostly false admittedly, but surrender none the less. He liked Methos like this, caught between the rock wall behind him and the hardness in front. Wanting to struggle but knowing better. It was times like this that his brother was at his best. All that restrained energy had to go somewhere after all.

He paused in his assault, waiting to see if his brother would acknowledge that he also wanted this. No response was immediately forthcoming from his friend so he pressed closer, metal and leather clashing as he retook the unresisting lips. A tongue, surprisingly soft considering its razor's edge, traced the inner join of their lips. His brother had apparently decided he was going to play too. He felt the groan swell within him and plundered the welcoming mouth with harsh nips and fierce thrusts in retribution for having made him react so easily. Oh but it was so sweet to kiss Methos, to take Methos, to answer that need inside of him. And he needed Methos as much as he wanted to deny the fact. The world was myrrh and lust and the tropical haven of Methos' mouth. Soon they would ride and raid but for that night he had other plans which he would wrest back from Methos' control after he finished enjoying this wonderful diversion of a kiss.

Fingers slipped from the cloth they had imprisoned and climbed the cool skin to cradle neck and nape. Short strands of soft, spikey hair ensnared his grip as he pulled Methos to him. Duncan had finally found a good way of silencing the old man and he was going to enjoy every second of the augural moment. Now the world could end without him because he was kissing Methos.

He was _kissing_ Methos!

He was kissing _Methos_!

_He_ was kissing Methos!

And he was still kissing... Duncan pulled away sharply.

"I..." Duncan tried "You... We..."

Hooded eyes regarded him composedly "Does that count as touching now?"

A hand that was only nominally under Duncan's control stuck out before he could check the action. Methos was quicker, catching Duncan's wrist as he shifted with a deadly fluid grace. The nuzzle of steel at his throat and the expressionless eyes warned Duncan that he had better pull his scattered wits together before something permanently unfortunate happened. He was wary but not worried. They had been here before - he just had to keep Methos talking until he had the opportunity to take the other man down.

"Now that is more like the Kronos I remember." Methos purred and Duncan shivered despite his confidence "Maybe you should go back to shocked and confused then I know I am talking to the right person."

"Methos?" Shocked and confused? Duncan could do shocked and confused. He held his hands wide in a peaceable gesture, waiting. All it would take would be for Methos to get caught up in whatever point he wanted to make, and he always did, and then Duncan could move.

"That's better. Now down on your knees, I think. I would rather not find myself on my bum because you decided you didn't want to listen to me."

"Methos?"

"On. Your. Knees." The command hissed out, each word clearly enunciated and unyielding.

Duncan found himself half-way there before he even realised what he was doing. The knife followed him down, so close he could have shaved with it. Methos seemed much taller then the actual change in vantage point warranted, more imposing. Duncan shivered. This wasn't the man with whom he shared beer and tall tales. This was a man out of time and out of his nightmares. This was a killer from the narrowed, assessing eyes to the blade in his hand and the willingness to use it. Then reality convulsed and that man was gone and in his place was the amused but harmless graduate that Duncan had first met - the persona pulled on like one of the baggy sweaters that Methos wore, comfy from long use and wholly deceiving. Even knowing part of the truth behind this particular lie Duncan found himself breathing easier. Despite the weapon still waiting at his throat he knew the threat had gone.

"So what do you see with Kronos' eyes from down there?" Methos sounded honestly curious. "Nothing? There should be some memories rattling around that quickening of yours but I guess you don't want to see those ones."

The hazel eyes were almost soft. Almost sorry. Duncan wasn't sure he wanted to know why.

"I should have thought of this earlier." Methos admitted "A sharp blade to the throat does wonders for the focus doesn't it. Having any more little visions?"

"You know about them?" Methos gave him a 'isn't it obvious' shrug. "How do I get rid of them?"

"You want them to stop?" Methos was eying Duncan peculiarly, as if he was the cheap plastic puzzle Methos had just won and was unsure what to do with.

"Please." Duncan would go for the emotional blackmail if that was what it took. "Methos. I'm asking you as a friend... if you know how to make them stop then tell me!"

In Duncan's opinion Methos looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"You won't like it." Methos warned. He didn't sound too unhappy with that fact, if anything he sounded amused.

Duncan summoned up the best quelling glare that he could manage. "Just tell me."

He knew he sounded as pathetic as he was sure he looked bit he hoped Methos would have pity on him. Given his luck recently pity was something else Methos had given up around year dot.

"Stop wanting to see them." Behind Methos' veneer of frivolity the was a seriousness that held Duncan with the promise that no matter how ridiculous it sounded Methos wasn't joking. "You are calling the memories up, you can let them rest in the past where they belong." Duncan could do nothing but stare at the other Immortal. It couldn't be that simple, surely? Duncan suddenly wished that Methos _had_ given up pity because he couldn't think of anything worse than seeing it in him at that moment. "Why do you think there are so few of us old ones left? Because you have to change. Because you have be willing to let go of everything. Because the more memories you have the more likely you are to get lost in them."

Duncan couldn't look at him. He had begun to think he had nothing left to loose but hearing the soft sorrow in Methos' voice made him realise how much he still clung onto and how much he treasured those things. And those people.

"Living in the moment isn't a choice once you get a few millennia under your belt," Methos continued, apparently not seeing or not caring about Duncan's hurting confusion, "it is a necessity. Everything is about control Duncan. You just have to learn to have some. The same discipline you demand of your body you have to demand of your mind" Methos smirked "If you can find the gutter you left it in."

Subconscious control? Duncan sunk fully to the floor suddenly glad he was already on his knees. This was something he could control? All this time he had been happily blaming Methos and all the time it had been him?

He remembered what it was like to call up those memories. Even in his disgust and horror there had still been that undercurrent of fascination - that need to know more. And what did it say about him that of all the quickenings he had chosen it had been Kronos', and of all the memories that that assimilated fragment held it was the ones of Methos he had conjured up? Methos had asked if he had seen Cassandra... It had never even occurred to him the he might. That the memories of her, of her captivity, even of her rape at Kronos' hands must be swimming around with all the rest and yet there had been no hint of them. He wasn't sure he could have lived with himself if he had raped Cassandra through Kronos' memories but had he done any less to Methos?

He had clung to the belief of Methos' guilt and willing complicity with Kronos, telling himself that any good man would rather die than do what Methos had done even if it was under compulsion. But Methos had never claimed to be a good man - just a survivor. One who would do anything, accept anything as long as his head was attached at the end of it because while he was still alive there was a chance he could make things better. And yet how many times had Methos acted against that survival instinct to help Duncan, to help Alexa, to help others. Five thousand years of weighed odds and desperate gambles that had paid off. And Duncan had condemned him for those choices because, like Cassandra, he would have rather died than go through what Methos had. For Methos there was no dishonour before which death was preferable and Duncan suddenly realised exactly what that meant. He could feel the bile, sharp and bitter as it curdled in the back of his throat, but thankfully he was spared the proof that he knew lurked inside him.

Only minutes before such a thought would probably have been accompanied by a myriad, and probably torrid, collection of visuals. Methos had not so much given him the key to the problem as pointed out where the door was and that it was already open. Maybe Methos had been right - he had been seeing what he had wanting to see and sparing himself the rest. He hadn't wanted to face the truth about Methos and Cassandra since either he would be forced to deal with the knowledge of Methos' actions again but this time filtered through Kronos' gleeful, jealous gaze or, almost worse, find some excuse, some mitigation for Methos' actions and maybe even risk destroying his image of Cassandra as she had destroyed his image of Methos. Every course, every truth seemed to lead to betrayal. He had chosen not to walk that path in his mind knowing beyond reason or thought that madness lay there - he could make the same conscious choice for the rest of the memories. When he was ready maybe Methos would help him, teach him how to control and access the knowledge that was buried inside him. Even lead him in a dream quest to touch the essences of those he had lost and yet carried with him so that he could say a proper farewell. That would have to wait until Methos was willing and he was ready since dreams, especially ritual transcendental ones, were both very powerful and never wholly under the control of the dreamer.

Dreams were never under the control of the dreamer! The thought froze inside him and Duncan felt the rush of cold-sweat that shook him as it fell through his body from his mind to the pit of his stomach. He could consciously control his dips into the stolen past when he was awake but the sleeping subconscious was well known for having a will all of its own.

"The dreams." Duncan pleaded with Methos' ankles "How do I control the dreams?"

The ankles flexed gracefully and folded pulling the rest of Methos down in counterbalance. How Methos folded up into such a compact package when he wanted Duncan could only put down to flexibility on the part of the older Immortal. It was either that or flat-packing becoming an optional benefit when you reached a few thousand years. Duncan could feel his own instinct to go searching in the ocean of quickening-stolen memories for clues about the old man's behavior and deliberately stopped himself diving in. It wasn't easy. To not know... To not do... It was not something that came naturally to him. Recently he had tried to rein back his normal instinct to throw himself bodily into any situation he found and he had found peace in his new stance on life. In many ways this was just an extension of that process. But the information burned within his mind as the unopened box had taunted Pandora and the forbidden fruit had called to Eve. Or more accurately, Duncan realised, like a drug needled an addict. The memories were his by right of conquest but they were a perilous prize. It frightened him how close he had come to loosing himself and possibly his life through what was, when you got down to it, his own lack of control. The fact that he had not known he needed that control was hardly an excuse - he had tried to stop the visions in the same way a smoker would give up 'after this packet'.

Against his will Duncan found himself looking at Methos, pulled to him by his silence. It was the scholar crouching in front of him. Eyes glittering with a shuttered curiosity, and behind that misleading façade the deadly mind waited in anticipation.

"Tell me about the dreams." Methos encouraged, more gently than Duncan had heard him speak to anyone accept Alexa.

God Alexa! After everything Methos had done for her just to watch her die. How could he tell that man what happened every night in his dreams. The Horseman, Methos the betrayer - that man he could have screamed the truth at, feeling almost justified in his assault both verbal and described.

"I can't." Duncan confessed, the shame closing around him and imprisoning him with high walls of his own making.

Darius or Sean would have drawn him out, gently and compassionately. Fitz would have badgered and teased the information out. Connor and Amanda would have worn him out physically, each in their own way, and tricked the truth out of him when he was too tired to resist. Joe would have grudgingly accepted his statement and Richie would have tried to wheedle the information out of him before giving up and in all probability sulking at the exclusion but both doing their best for him. However he wasn't faced with any of those people, instead he was dealing with Methos who just shrugged.

"Then I can't help you."

Duncan stared at him. Methos really meant it. Duncan could see the muscles in Methos' legs bunching within the pale material of his trousers in preparation to stand up again. He would walk out Duncan realised. Out of the bar - maybe even out of his life. He didn't know that Methos would really leave, but he didn't know Methos would stay either. Methos had friends, had a separate life away from Duncan that Duncan knew nothing about. It was probably paranoia, brought on by too little sleep and too much stress, Duncan told himself. Methos wouldn't leave him, not now, not like this. But he wouldn't help him either. Methos' friendship did not carry with it an obligation to save those who didn't want to be saved. Any second Methos would evolve from crouching ape to upright man and walk away. In the face of Methos' callous indifference even one step was perversely too far.

"I'm at Bordeaux." Duncan burst out. Methos settled down instantly. Sinking from his crouch to a more comfortable cross-legged position as he listened and watched Duncan closely. "At the submarine base. But I am not _me_. I am Kronos."

Methos nodded but otherwise remained silent so Duncan could talk.

"Kronos... I... _He_ tells you to undress" Duncan admitted miserably "and..."

How had Duncan never noticed the subtle patterns in the floorboards before? Gentle lines that flowed together and apart like a Buddhist sand garden. He traced the shades of brown with his fingers, using the action as a meditation. The bands trailed together, pushed along the wake of the grain, sometimes so near they almost touched and other times forced apart by knots and imperfections in the wood. Scuffed varnish and worn in dust aged the timber beyond its years, and yet it bore only the honourable scars of fulfilled purpose.

"I do." Methos prompted.

"You do." Duncan agreed. "And then... There is a metal ring in the wall." Duncan could remember every detail as if it had been etched into his mind – the dull metal against the dull brickwork. The red rust splattered like blood across the chill and interlocking loops. "He chains you to it." Every clink of the chain rattled with malevolent joy at the lack of resistance to his pull on it. He could feel the weight of the dark strands that looked like little more than shadows in the flickering lights. They were hard and unyielding to his touch as, having secured them, he ran his fingers over the intertwined bonds until he reached the place where cool flesh was wound with warming metal. Knots and links, flowing together and apart in his dreams, from him... from Kronos to Methos, from Methos to...

The floor was hard under his fingers but not cold like metal was when you first touched it. Swords were like that - they lay chill, sleeping in undying death until you slid the hilt onto the tang and clad it in ivory or leather. Then they awoke; beautiful, deadly and cold-blooded. Warmed only by external heat and caring nothing for loyalty. You sheathed them and bound them to you, but you could never guarantee that the sharp edge wouldn't bite the hand that wielded it. Despite that, you had to trust them because the alternative was worse. Duncan risked a look at Methos but the other man's eyes were following the path Duncan was still tracing on the ground.

Methos seemed hypnotized by the stroke of his digits but his mind was obviously with Duncan's confession. "I'm chained to the ring?"

Duncan nodded reluctantly. He could feel the heat of his blush scorching his cheek but, worse, the heat of arousal winding like a cock-ring around his groin.

"And then I... He has a whip. A black cat-o-nine-tails" Duncan took refuge in the meaningless details so he didn't have to think about what they became when he put them together. Didn't have to think about how good it felt to watch Methos thrashing under the biting claw marks of the black cat. The beauty of the leaping, twitching muscles as they where ripped to bloody meat only to knit again to unblemished challenge. The pleading, whimpering, delightful sounds that Methos made between strikes and the howls he made as the whip struck. Not that thinking about what came next was any better. "When it's over..."

Duncan hoped to find inspiration of how he could possibly continue in Methos' visage, or even an excuse not to have to go on, but Methos was expressionless. None of the disgust or horror that he had feared and yet neither was there the denial he was hoping to see. Like mirrored glass Methos could look out but Duncan could not tell one thing about what was going on in his mind.

"But it isn't over is it" Methos asked quietly.

Duncan shook his head. "It was... I've seen lashings. I've seen the way even the bravest man's body flinches under the strokes. And it was not a gentle beating," _thousands of years of blood running red in the torchlight, shimmering sweat turning pale skin to fire, the echo of deliberately inflicted pain, the savage joy of the weapon's strike,_ "but you... you... enjoyed it." He shut his eyes not wanted to see Methos' reaction to that. Not wanting to risk Methos seeing any hint of what his own reaction had been.

"Enjoyed 'that was fun'" Methos' voice was soft, "or enjoyed 'I've found a new religion'?"

Duncan kept his eyes firmly closed.

"Somewhere between the two," he admitted.

"Considering conversion but not yet had an epiphany" Methos suggested. Duncan couldn't help his brief smile at that description. It was so inappropriate and yet that irreverence felt right. "I'm guessing that steps are taken related to my condition?"

How could he answer that, Duncan worried? 'Yes' was accurate and said all that was needed, but it was also so far from fact that it felt like a lie. Did he really want to describe the little shiver that Methos gave as the vial of virus was placed against the back of his neck? The way Methos had bowed his head as if it had been a knife-blade rather than cooled glass? The breathy moans he had made as the vial was run over his body? How the glass had felt in Duncan's hand – not cold enough to burn but more then enough to get a reaction from beating-heated skin and sensitive tissue? The way Methos had whimpered as the tube had been used to tease his nipples and balls? The way the glass and its contents had seemed to slowly darken as Methos' blood had become smeared across the transparent surface when he had traced Methos' spine and ribs with it, reminding them both with its touch all the places he had cut Methos in the past and how much they had both enjoyed it? The sick desire he had felt as he had moved the tube lower and Methos had just spread his legs like a whore, head still bowed, ready to accept anything that was done to him? The way Methos shuddered when the vial was pushed inside him, slicked only with his own congealing blood?

Could he tell Methos that he could not tell his own conflicted feelings from Kronos'? That he wanted Kronos to hurt Methos, to make him writhe on that damn virus. That he felt Kronos' fierce delight at Methos' responses, both audible and visual, as if it was his own?

No, Duncan decided, he couldn't tell Methos. Not the details, but the rest... maybe that was his penance for the dreams; to confess them. The blush was still there, growing stronger with each thought and Duncan wondered how much he had given away before he had even said a word.

"He used the vial of virus." Duncan began and took a deep breath. "He..."

"I think I get the idea," Methos interrupted to Duncan's relief.

Duncan didn't know if Methos was being kind, or as close to it as he came, or whether Methos, himself, didn't want to be reminded of all the intimate details of the event. It didn't matter, Duncan had made the effort and to continue further would not have been atonement but self-absorption.

"Is that where it ends?" Methos asked.

Duncan shook his head slowly. Still chained, against the wall, on the floor... Methos had felt so welcoming beneath him. No resistance, just the feeling of coming home as he had pushed in. Duncan had no idea what happened to the vial of virus and he never cared. In the dream he had made his point and then taken what was his due.

"I... _Kronos_ and you become intimate. When it is over I wake up." Duncan said, relieved.

He had done it – it was out in the open now and Methos hadn't shouted, been sarcastic or taken his head. Joe had told him, ruefully, about Methos' amusement over Joe's brief conspiracy with Walker. Duncan wasn't sure which he feared more, Methos' amusement or his disgust. The latter at least he could have fought on even terms but he did not want to fight Methos any more. Too much of him wanted to reach out to the other immortal and... and what he wasn't sure but he shied away from thinking about it too hard.

Feeling like Orpheus but knowing he just had to look even if it took even if it cost him everything, Duncan opened his eyes. Methos was exactly where he had been before. A calm pillar that Duncan could cling onto in the face of chaotic mess that was his mind. Absorbing. Considering. Processing. If there was any expression on Methos' face it was that of serious concentration.

"The same dream every night" Methos asked at last.

"Or something similar." It was only the lack of judgment or pity in in Methos' voice that allowed Duncan to make that confession.

Methos gave him a crooked look.

"Do you want me to tell you it never happened? I can if you think that would help."

'Don't lie to me any more' Duncan wanted to say but instead he just shook his head. "No. It's okay. Thank you. It is just... when I am awake it might take me a second, but then I know I am myself and the memories are His. It is like I am sitting in his mind watching out of his eyes but it isn't me. The dreams... I can't tell."

"But you are sure you are Kronos?" Methos insisted. "In the dream?"

Duncan sighed. "Like it could be anybody else?"

Methos nodded reflectively. "I think... " He began slowly, "that the standard response is appropriate here."

"You think I should do nothing? I tried that and look at where it got me."

"Joe's floor? There are worse places." Methos smiled carefully. "You can sometimes find answers in dreams but be careful you know what question they relate to."

Duncan let himself respond. "You mean it was a hint that all I needed was discipline."

Methos' delighted laugh surprised him.

"There is hope for you yet Highlander." Elongating to the vertical Methos offered Duncan a hand. "Come on Mac, time to stop pretending to be a spittoon."

"Who's pretending." Duncan grumbled. "You really think the dreams will stop?"

Methos shrugged "Or you may get beheaded tomorrow."

"Thanks!" While he tried to sound offended Duncan was relieved by what he hoped was Methos joking. If they could still joke together then he hadn't ruined anything. That was how he could tell the state of their friendship. After Bordeaux everything had become serious, even meeting had become a matter of life and death. Playfulness and banter had lost its innocence and gained hurtful silences and loaded words. Duncan had feared that his revelation, even after Methos' little outing, would take them back to that time. A fear made even more potent by the players in his fantasies.

Methos seemed to read his contemplation of their shared past as melancholy. "It will be alright. Trust me. You can do this."

Trust me? After everything that Duncan had said it was Methos asking Duncan to trust him. God! Methos had such belief in him. Duncan felt like every thought, every dream he had had was a betrayal of that trust. But Methos knew. Knew and didn't mind. He looked at the slender Immortal who stood, tall and enduring, in front of him. Duncan waited, allowing Methos to make the first move and end the conversation. Instead Methos stepped closer, a single step leaving only the flat of a blade between them. Earlier the proximity would have been threatening, but now Duncan found it reassuring. For once it was no hardship to remain passive and wait. Methos carefully took Duncan's face in his hands and Duncan let himself be guided, curious as to what the old man was up to but unconcerned.

"Duncan." Methos leaned forward and kissed him. "That is so you can tell the difference."

"Thank you." It was all Duncan could think of to say. There were no distracting memories to confuse the moment. There had just been Methos, so solemn but tender and welcoming. Had he truly never kissed Kronos like that? As Methos turned and left Duncan ruthlessly called the memories to him and burned through them with no thought but the one. He had the memories of kisses, so many kisses - harsh, demanding, powerful... so many kisses taken and returned, but Duncan had no recollection of one being given. The memories jolted to a sudden halt in a mass of quickening sensation.

Duncan shook himself out of the trance he had let himself fall into. Had that been Kronos' first quickening? Was it age that stripped early memories from you? Was it wrong to hope that the pain of torment that proceeded Cassandra's first quickening would slowly seep away to bother her no longer? Would he loose the memories of his home and family if he lived that long? Or was there another explanation? Shared quickening, shared memories. It was something to investigate later when he had dealt with the current problem. Did he want to know what was in Kronos' earliest thoughts? Probably not. There was enough violence contained within the ones he had that he didn't need any more. Should he be thanking Methos for taking some of that darkness and saving him from another dark quickening? Another question to ponder for another day.

With a lighter step and suddenly looking forward to a good night's sleep Duncan followed Methos to the back room and their deserted friends. He might not have meant it as such but Duncan held the memory of Methos' kiss to himself like a talisman. It never occurred to him that the remembrance of soft, skilled lips might not be the best thing to take with him into his dreams.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	13. Chapter 13

"I guess we weren't the only ones with a few words that needed to be said." Ethan grinned wickedly.

Ethan almost laughed at Ripper's quizzical expression. He had accepted the Ripper had gone to seed a trifle in the stuffy atmosphere of the Watchers. All that rarefied air was bound to lead to oxygen deprivation sooner or later, but how could Ripper have possibly missed the vibes between Yama and Duncan without sticking his fingers in his ears, shutting his eyes and singing I'm a little teapot in a loud voice? Ethan replayed that image in his mind and decided that he rather liked it. It gave him a few ideas... Just because he had retired it didn't mean he couldn't consult or publish. A curse aimed at people ignoring the blindingly obvious... yes, Ethan liked that idea. Almost as much as he liked the idea of what might be happening just down the hallway. What better time to be stuck in a room with two people for whom voyeur was practically their job title. And didn't people always say that show was better than tell? Ethan smirked at the corridor down which Yama and Duncan had gone.

"Shall we?" Ethan suggested.

Confidently he headed towards the passageway beckoning the others to follow him.

"Hold it." Joe ordered

Ethan found himself responding. It was annoying that just the possibility of getting back together with Ripper seemed to trigger a Pavlovian response to a certain type of Watcher. It would have been alright if Ripper had been as unique as Ethan had always thought, but evidence suggested that the Watchers just spread the rebels out amongst the divisions so that they couldn't conspire. Ethan would have to encourage Ripper and Joe to stay in touch. But first he wanted to know what was going on in the other room. Ethan weighed up pouting or temporarily turning Joe into a statue. The first was slightly easier and wouldn't get Ripper narked at him, the second was more satisfying in the short term but might preclude other sorts of satisfaction later. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't had enough practice ignoring Ripper. He could certainly ignore a stranger with whom his closest relationship was having had illicit relations in their bathroom, otherwise he would be taking orders from half of south London, a number a multinational conglomerates and at least four commander-in-chiefs. He gave Joe a 'you can stop me if you can catch me' glare.

"Give them a bit of privacy." Joe insisted.

Ripper grabbed Ethan's arm and gave him what Ethan could only describe as a pleading look. Ethan sighed. He was never going to get used to that. Was this new Ripper going to be worth the disapprobation, misunderstanding, and judgment? He had tried the first time beyond sense and sanity. He had too much pride to do the same thing again. It was one of the reasons he needed to know what was going on in the other room. He was selfish and egotistical, it was a life choice and one he enjoyed, which was why he wanted to know whether the person who through chance, chaos or undeserved serendipity had been around after every other disaster with Ripper was still going to be around for him. Not that he begrudged Duncan... no, actually, he grudged rather well and Duncan was definitely a front-runner for that attention but he could see why Yama wanted to keep him and he was hardly in the position to quibble over taste in long or short-term partners. It wasn't that he didn't want Yama and Duncan to get together, in any other circumstances he would be rooting for his friend, it was just that he didn't want to loose Yama for Methos to get Duncan.

It wasn't about sex, not that Yama couldn't have written the encyclopedia over the years, but he had had centuries to come to terms with the things he had done in his life and Ethan had only had months. The one place where he couldn't get away from the truth of past events was in Yama's metaphorical bed. Most of the time he he could deal with the memories, unlike an Immortal he didn't have picture perfect flashbacks to worry about. It was just the nightmares and the daymares he had to worry about finding himself caught up by and run away with. Ethan was many things, but a horseman wasn't one of them. He just had to pretend to himself that it was all a bad acid trip and live in the hope that it would fade into the past where it belonged. Preferably before Ripper found out. He didn't want any pity. Or Ripper staying in whatever their relationship became because he felt some sickening sense of boyscout obligation. If they were going to work out or fight it out it would be on equal terms.

Ethan realised Joe was watching their exchange and wondered what his new second favourite Watcher saw. That and how much it would take to embarrass him. Maybe he could pin Ripper to the wall, make a few things very clear and then make it down the corridor while Ripper dealt with the resulting coronary. If he thought it would work...

Joe grinned at Ethan's glare with the disconcertingly impervious expression of one who was used to dealing with Yama. Catching Ethan's eyes Joe deliberately studied his nails.

"Besides they will take five minutes of dicking around before they get onto anything interesting."

Ethan felt Ripper's arm spasm on his and took it for surprise but he was too busy giving Joe his utmost respect.

"What? You think I have been following those two all this time without knowing the first thing about them? Give me some credit - five minutes, if they get to anything interesting before then, trust me, we will hear it in the hall."

"Well in that case" Ethan approved "would you be interested in a little something to make sure they don't hear us?"

Joe gave him a suspicious but intrigued squint.

"Ethan!" Ripper objected.

Ignoring Joe for the moment Ethan faced Ripper. "You remember that conversation we had in the bathroom?"

Ripper flushed uncomfortably and Ethan rolled his eyes at the man. "The Conversation... the one about respecting each other's profession..."

"This isn't your profession" Ripper spluttered "This is you..."

"Aiding your fellow Watcher by providing him with a little something which will make it easier for him to do his job?" Ethan interrupted sweetly.

"Just what are we talking about here?" Joe demanded.

Ethan did his best to look demur - it wasn't something he particularly excelled at but he hated to admit that there was something he couldn't do.

"What _are_ you thinking?" Ripper inquired curiously.

Ethan looked Joe over carefully. "How would you like to be a bit lighter, and quieter, on your feet?"

Joe's expression could have freeze-distilled the vodka all the way in the bar.

"I say this without irony" Joe enunciated clearly "tread carefully. The last person, and I use the term very loosely, to start making me offers concerning my legs was a evil, son-of-a-bitch millennial demon who was trying to use me to attack my friends. It didn't work for him and you will understand why I take such 'offers' badly."

Ethan did not allow his expression to change. "If you think I am offering you your legs back I've got to disappoint you. I couldn't do that. I'm not sure anybody could, not permanently and not if you wanted to keep your soul." Ethan let Joe see his very rare moment of sincerity "What I can do is a little charm which will damper any noise we make. In my experience it is just that little bit easier to peer through keyholes when they can't hear you coming."

"Peeped through a lot of keyholes have you?" Joe relented.

Ethan shrugged "A man has to have a hobby."

"Ethan," Ripper hissed. "Are you thinking of the one we used to use when..?"

"Rip-per, if you aren't willing to finish that sentence then don't start it." Ethan chided.

"I never thought I would say this..." Ripper muttered in disbelief "But trust him. He can do what he says he can. Just don't ask how. Or how long it will... How long will it last?"

Ethan waggled his hand back a forwards. "Depends on Joe here. Long enough to go drop some eaves. After that... who knows?"

Joe looked back and forwards between the two of them. "I don't really want to know any of the details do I?"

"Well..." Ethan began. He didn't expect he was going to get very far before Ripper interrupted him with an abrupt 'best not'. Sometimes predictability was fun.

"Do what you need to." Joe waved them on. Ethan wondered how much of the bottle Yama had let Joe drink and how big a part that had played in Joe's decision. However it was a long time since Ethan had had the chance to cast anything with Ripper. Their last disaster didn't count as the problem had been that it hadn't intentionally been a joint effort.

Ethan allowed some of his glee to show. Even after all these years it seemed unlikely the Ripper didn't know him well enough that there was any point in trying to hide it. "Ripper? Want to lend a hand?"

Ethan could practically see the conflicting emotions battling it out not just on Ripper's face but throughout his whole body. If he plugged Ripper into an amplifier Ethan was pretty sure he would get a clean note out the man was vibrating so much. It was times like this that Ethan had found it was better to gently help Ripper out by making the decision for him.

Ethan knelt down as close as he could to Joe's far leg. "Get your arse down here." He ordered Ripper. Not giving Ripper any choice in the matter by turning all his attention to Joe he looked up at the sitting Watcher. Raising his hand and allowing it to hover by Joe's leg he asked politely "May I?"

Ripper was knelt opposite him by the time that Joe grunted assent. Taking Ripper's hand in one of his and placing the other on what would have been Joe's calf Ethan concentrated. Working magic with Ripper was like coming home. He didn't need to check that Ripper had mirrored his action because he could feel the power building and entwining between them. It was the intimacy of the perfect kiss, a power that was neither his Chaos nor Ripper's thaumaturgy. It sparked and crackled through the nerves of his soul like the purest Speed. He had been addicted since his first hit. If pushed then Ethan didn't think he would rate it above good sex but it definitely topped bad sex. Combining the two was what made great sex great. Well, that or thousands of years of experience but Yama had his own brand of magic when he chose to use it. The connection that ran between the two of them thrummed with power and, wanting to complete the circuit, it arced through the resistance that Joe represented. It was what Ethan and Ripper had both been waiting for. Long silent words fell from their mouths in syllable-perfect sync as they directed the spark of power; Ethan controlling the effects of the magic and Ripper binding it into place. Ethan doubted that Joe could feel anything of what they were doing which was a shame since it was the closest he had got to an orgy since Maggie got elected.

It was easier than Ethan had feared it might be. Joe had a lot of his own natural power. He would never have made it as a mage but it was enough that the spell took easily and Ethan felt confident enough to add in a few extra touches. He might not have been able to give Joe his legs back but he could do one or to things to the prosthetics that made them slightly less... prosthetic, as well as giving Joe the ability to sneak up on a mouse when he chose.

What was hard was breaking the connection and drawing away. That was were the flakes were winnowed out from the mages - where he and Ripper had had the willpower and strength to succeed and live where others had failed. Where Randell had failed. Ethan had often wondered if Ripper's real problem was that it hadn't become any easier the one time they had tried magic shortly after Randell died. As if the knowledge of what could happen to them should have taken away the temptation or somehow made them immune to its effects. With long honed discipline Ethan let his hands fall as the last sound, uttered as one from two mouths, hovered in that spiritual moment between noise and silence. For a second the power sung suspended, almost visible, between their fingers and then they ended the spell and it was gone.

It was always heartrending the moment you came out of a magic-trance. The point when you realised that you had opened your eyes or maybe just your normal sight had returned and all the beauty that the universe held was gone. For the first time in decades Ethan was able to crash back to the world only to be cushioned by Ripper's presence and the rare, green softness of Ripper's eyes.

Of course this time it was also accompanied by the less romantic "What did you do?"

"That's nice" Ethan huffed "You do something good for a friend and that is the thanks you get." With that he ignored Ripper totally. "Joe? How does it feel?"

Joe gave a odd expression which Ethan deciphered as Joe trying to wiggle toes that were on another continent.

"It feels odd. Good odd not bad odd. Leave your number and I will get back to you."

Ethan stood up and stretched. He really was getting too old for this floor thing.

"I've made it turn on and off-able. No added charge. Just think really hard that you want to be quiet..." Joe screwed up his face as he tried to obey Ethan's command. "And there you go - noise dampers online."

"Geek" Ripper teased.

"It will last as long as you are trying to be quiet." Ethan ignored Ripper through long practice. "Start trying to make a noise or speak above a whisper and it turns off." Ethan smiled "Commando magic - two minutes, no noise."

"Well let's give this baby a test run." Joe hauled himself to his feet. He had a slightly confused expression on his face which Ethan put down to the other little modifications he had made. It was more fun to keep quiet about that for now though. Ripper could force the information out of him later.

Joe let Ethan and Ripper go first, obviously testing things out and trying to work out why everything suddenly felt more comfortable as well as quieter. Despite that it was just after Joe's predicted five minutes that the three of them were listening as hard as they could just outside the main saloon.

Slipping the curtain open a fraction Ethan peered through before moving back to allow Ripper and Joe to live up to their job titles. He could sense Ripper's suspicion at his own satisfied grin at the tableau laid out before them. Even more so when Ripper actually got to look himself. Fearing the explosion he could see brewing in his friend's eyes would break the extra cantrap he had cast on them Ethan slipped his hand over Ripper's mouth and backed them both away from the doorway leaving Joe to watch alone.

Knowing that his amusement was palpable Ethan slowly lifted one finger at a time until Ripper' gaping mouth was clear. Oh this was such fun Ethan decided.

"Adam!" Ripper gasped.

Ethan giggled.

"I take it by your reaction that I shouldn't be concerned about the fact that our old and unchanging friend has Duncan, on his knees and with a rather sharp looking knife to his throat?"

Ethan gestured to Joe who was watching through the drapery with intense interest but no obvious concern. He tried not to let himself be irritated as Ripper relaxed at the other man's calm demeanor. Trust between them wasn't going to come quickly on either side if it fully came back at all. More likely they would both settle into a stagnant state where trust was unnecessary since nothing was revealed to be betrayed. It wouldn't be ideal but if that was the price Ethan would pay for a few years of acceptance and hot sex with Ripper it would do. While the intellectual part of him knew and understood this it did not stop the flash of annoyance and disappointment. The urge to retaliate was strong but he remembered his dreams of blood and vengeance and felt sick. He needed some good old fashioned mischief, nefarious rather than malicious, to remind himself that not every chaotic act was the first step down the road to the just as old fashioned murder, rapine and pillage. Not that a good pillage couldn't be fun. Clothing for example was very susceptible to being 'accidentally' pillaged, sometimes even while the person was still wearing it. Ethan put his plans of conquest on hold in favour of playing a small part in reassuring Ripper.

"M... Adam won't do anything permanent to him." Ethan let the humour he had nearly lost come back to him and seep into his voice. "I think they just needed to discuss a few ground rules."

Giles' eyebrows were trying to become a toupee.

"Duncan and Adam?" Much to Ethan's delight Ripper took his glasses off and began to polish them. Unsure how bad Ripper's eyes were now Ethan waited until Ripper had put them back on before he waggled his hand backward and forward.

"At the moment it's more 'Adam and Duncan'. Maybe when they have cleared the air it might become 'Adam and Duncan' and 'Duncan and Adam'."

Ethan had been slightly hoping for embarrassed Ripper but he got exasperated Ripper instead. Not that he minded - both were fun and had distinct opportunities for amusement.

"Ethan. That made absolutely no sense." Ripper huffed.

"It did really." Ethan assured him. He wondered if he could still do breathless and wide eyed convincingly but decided that he was too old and that it was beneath his dignity. "Trust me."

Ripper looked at him askance.

"Coming from you those are two of the scariest words in existence." Ripper said flatly.

Ethan shook his head. "Oh no. They are much scarier coming from Adam."

Joe turned around and grinned at them both. "Especially when it is followed by any sentence with the word 'improvising' in it" He whispered. "I think we should head back unless we want to get caught."

It was a thought Ethan mused. He didn't think Yama would mind terribly. Duncan had seemed nice enough but a bit staid and in need of keeping on his toes. All it would take would be...

He realised his mistake as with a pointed "come on you" Ripper hustled him away. Maybe his smile had shown a few too many molars as well as the normal canines. Still, you couldn't blame a Chaos Mage for trying. And at least he could rest easy knowing that things were going to end up working out according to Yama's hymn sheet. It actually looked like he might gain some new friends rather than loosing his great Old One. He was going to have so much fun winding up the Scoobies!

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	14. Chapter 14

"Did you miss me?" Methos teased from the doorway.

Joe broke off his discussion of music related arcana to flick a disgusted look at the old Immortal. "Duncan still got everything attached?"

"I left as I found" Methos assured him blithely "He'll be through in a moment."

"Good. Then be useful and get that folio from over there..." Joe waved at his bookshelf "The Johnson one."

"Joe. I've told you before. Robert Johnson was not an Immortal." Methos shook his head but did as requested.

Joe waved his objection off. "Says you."

"We are trying to identify if he was actually approached by a demon." Ethan explained as Joe spread the file out on the table. "What you thought we would be spending all our time lurking in the corridor trying to overhear you two arguing over Duncan accessing Kronos' memories?"

Methos quirked an eyebrow. "Silly me. I don't know what might have given me that idea."

"Some people." Ethan sighed with mock despair. "But, fun as it has been, if the excitement is all over we should probably head off."

Methos almost laughed at how disappointed Joe and Giles looked.

"You could stick around for a bit." Joe offered "Join us for a set later."

Giles and Ethan looked at each other for a long moment, silently conferring.

"We could." Giles agreed slowly. "I'd..."

"We'd" Ethan corrected.

"We'd need to go and change first and... do stuff."

Methos allowed his attention to wander around the room. Given the almost disaster earlier it had been a good day. He remembered listening to Ripper play back in the old days in London. He had been good, self-trained and unpracticed as he was then. Methos wondered if Giles had kept in practice over the years, probably not as much as Joe had but the possibilities were intriguing. He sidled over to Ethan who had also settled back to watch the two musicians wangle.

"I think you are going to be back here later." Methos confided.

Ethan grinned "I think you're right. We better be going back to my hotel room first though or the world is going to develop a new paint scheme on some of its more famous monuments."

"Do they know that?" Methos wondered

They both regarded the two Watchers with fond amusement.

"I think Ripper has a fair idea, yes." Ethan assured him. "I haven't heard him play in years. Is Joe good?"

"Very good." Duncan answered for Methos as he joined them. Giles and Joe had got too caught up in their exchange to notice his presence or his comment. Methos was just glad to see that the Highlander did not seem to be worrying about about the kiss they had shared. It had been an impulse, an improvisation... an opportunity which had been too good to pass up. Methos was glad it hadn't also been a mistake. Some of the haunted look had left the Scot's expression which was a good sign. Now Methos had to just wait until Duncan started acting oddly around him again and he would know that the other Immortal had finally worked out what was really going on. Until then... until then he could find other ways to amuse himself.

"So what are your plans?" Methos asked Ethan, more to distract himself from Duncan's warm presence than anything else.

Ethan's sly look let Methos know that Ethan wasn't fooled. "I think I might do a few more pubs in the home counties. They have some good ales and ciders." Ethan admitted innocently.

"And maybe a few in the London area?" Methos suggested.

Ethan looked across at Giles and Methos hid his smile at the softening of the other man's face. It wouldn't do to mock when Ethan might still be alive to get his own licks in, depending on how long it took the second oldest member of the Clan Macleod to wise-up.

"Maybe a few." Ethan agreed. "I'll send you the usual postcard when I know where I will be. You are still planning on joining me aren't you?"

There was a hint of something desperate and needing under the bland words. It was well hidden but Methos had heard it too many times before. Part of him wanted to run from that obligation, to deny it existed and hide until it and Ethan were another cherished but lost footnote in his history. But Methos knew he needed such earthly ties to keep him grounded. He needed people like Joe and Ethan and Alexa to remind him that, despite the shortness and inconsequence of their lives in the general scheme of things, mortals still mattered. That their existences extended far beyond the frail human shell that housed them and that so did his.

"The worlds longest pub crawl..." Methos mused insincerely. "Do I want to come along for another part of it?"

Methos knew Ethan could hear what he wasn't saying. Ethan hated vulnerability as much as Methos hated obligation. It was one of the things he had loved about Alexa - she had held him too her by her independence. Ethan would quite happily complain and whine but when it came to the important things he wouldn't let anyone see when he was hurting. Methos knew because he had heard the screams and whimpers that Ethan tried to hide. Because he had seen both the effect that it had on the normally sensual mage and the lengths that Ethan had gone to to try and stop Methos knowing what he was doing, what he had done, to his friend. Methos wouldn't promise to be around if Ethan needed him because Ethan didn't want or believe promises. Which was lucky because Methos didn't make them. Sometimes what didn't get said was more meaningful than what did. Methos knew Ethan understood that, he just hoped Duncan did as well.

"They will make you pay your tab!" Joe warned automatically, the concept of Methos going to another bar reaching him when nothing else could.

Methos' eyes crinkled slightly at the thought. "Some things are worth the sacrifice." He proclaimed grandly.

Joe grinned at him. "Not the best time to be mentioning sacrifices _Adam_."

"On that note..." Ethan pulled his shirt away from his skin and pulled a face. "Ripper we can come back later but we really need to go. I need to change and that headache I got the aspirin for is getting worse."

Methos wondered why the concept of painkillers made Giles blush and Duncan grin.

"I'll drive you to your hotel" Duncan offered.

"We'll be back later." Ethan assured Joe. His eyes flicked to Methos and Methos gave him a slight nod. He could always steal a shirt from Joe. Duncan needed time to think and that meant time to himself. For some reason Methos didn't want to go back to his otherwise empty flat. Most of the time his books and music was all the company he needed but every so often he felt the desire to remind himself that he was alive and part of the world.

It was one of those times.

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


	15. Chapter 15

Methos watched them leave, face implacable, and Joe ached for him. Joe knew it was stupid. Methos was five thousand years old. He had done things and seen things that Joe didn't even want to contemplate the existence of but all Joe could think about was how much the man must have lost over the years. It was hardly surprising that Methos was staying around for 'later'. Joe hoped Methos didn't think he had missed all those little undercurrents. As far as Joe could tell Methos was rooting for Giles and Ethan, and Joe had more than a few suspicions as to where the man's interest was currently leaning, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Methos was watching part of his past walk out of the door.

"You think they will work things out?" Joe asked the other man quietly. He didn't know whether Methos wanted to talk about it. One way and another they had both probably had more than their share of revelations, and alcohol, for the day, hell, for the decade but Methos was his friend.

Methos' eyes didn't leave the empty doorway. "You know the saying about walking in someone else's shoes." He said so quietly that Joe wasn't totally sure that Methos was actually talking to him.

"Uh-huh." Joe agreed noncommittally.

"Ethan spent a year dreaming six thousand of mine." Joe stared at him but Methos' face was blank. "He probably knows more about my early years than I do."

Joe groped for a chair and sat down with an audible thump. He had actually been finding walking oddly easier since whatever it was the Ethan and Giles had done to him but suddenly his prosthetics turned to lead and all the remaining muscles in his legs turned to jelly.

"Six" Joe croaked. They always underestimated the old man but... sounded like they hadn't been the only ones. Nearly a thousand years before he took his first head - that was a run that was going to be hard to beat. And Ethan... He wasn't sure whether he would give everything he had to have that experience or to avoid it. "How is he taking it?" _How was he still sane?_

"Given he has been on a pub crawl ever since..." Methos' mouth twitched "I'd say fairly well. But he needs his own life back and Ripper was always a large part of it. I think for the first time they both have reasons to compromise."

Unconsciously Methos pulled his shirt more firmly into place.

"You did something didn't you." Joe accused.

Methos finally looked away from the exit and at him. "Maybe." He looked away again.

Joe had been watching Immortals for most of his life. Methos was by far the hardest to read and one of the most difficult to play poker with.

"But why?"

It was Methos' shoes that caught his attention his time. They were not his normal hiking boots but light slippers that Joe suspected might be Tibetan. If Methos' inspection was any indication they also held the secrets of the universe stitched into the patterns on the toes.

Still looking down Methos shrugged vaguely. "Because those two idiots would have never got around to it otherwise."

"No," Joe objected, annoyed at himself for having given Methos the opportunity to misunderstand and knowing it had been his fault since he had been unclear. "I mean why did Ethan dream your life?"

"That is a very long story Joe..." Methos began, wandering over to the table and randomly flicking through books and Watcher files.

Joe considered getting up and slapping Methos' hands away but it seemed too much effort and would most likely lead to a debate on Methos' use of the Watcher database rather than the subject at hand.

"And don't even think about trying to wriggle out of it."

The cover of one of the larger volumes fell back to the rest of the book with a soft slap as it slipped from Methos' fingers.

"Just not today." Methos insisted. "Not now."

Normally Joe wouldn't let him get away with that without a fight but after all the other events of the day he was prepared to conceed. Joe was going to have enough trouble writing up the day's events as it was, he wondered if he could talk Methos into given him a hand. It wouldn't be the first time. Other than the obvious problem, Methos had been one of the best researchers and chroniclers that they had ever had. There were a handful of other Watchers known through the history of the organisation as exceptional and Joe thought Methos was at least three of them. Or maybe he could save them both some grief and see if he could get Giles to help him. Just because Giles worked for one of the other departments didn't mean he didn't have to write reports. Joe suspected Giles might be up for a little collusion, or at least a little collaboration to get their respective stories straight. And maybe he could get Ethan to reveal a few details about Methos while they were at it. That seemed like the best plan, he just had to lull Methos' suspicions.

"Then answer me this..." Joe demanded. "You and Duncan?"

The answer wouldn't go any further then these walls but Joe needed to ask even if Methos refused to answer.

Methos shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, and flicked through a few more books. "We have something they don't - time." He paused and looked a Joe as if weighing up why he was asking. "We _will_ work things out."

He didn't deny the implication Joe noted. He watched the slender Immortal as Methos' fingers danced over pages, covers and spines. Occasionally they paused for a measure as a word or a crease attracted them but always they moved on. There was something fascinating and aesthetic about the gentle skim of those long digits but there was something sad too. Fingers that had touched stone and clay tablets, papyrus and parchment now caressed paper and were just as happy to tap-dance over a keyboard. In ten, a hundred even a thousand years, what would those ancient fingers touch? How would that ancient mind record his thoughts? How would the Watchers? Adam and his damn database had just beat the trend. Now the younger Watchers were demanding the right to text their reports in. Databases were the least of their problems. Then it had been unthinkable, now it was possible and in the future... It was just a matter of waiting which was something Methos had obviously had a lot of practice doing. Ethan and Giles didn't have time, pre-Immortality aside, like Joe himself they had another forty, maybe fifty years if they were lucky. Methos and Duncan had...

"Why do I think that if you didn't have that time then you would have worked it out already?" Joe complained.

Methos arched an eyebrow at him and began to browse a folder of highly confidential reports. "Because sometimes the very young have flashes of inspiration?"

"Better then senility in the very old." This time Joe did get up and snatch the folder from him. Methos looked vaguely offended.

"We will work something out Joe." Methos grabbed the folder back. "Don't worry. Duncan just needs to get to grips with himself, as it were. He has one or two issues that he needs to work out on his own. Then, well, then, we will see." Having looked at the cover again he handed folder back back. "Do you think Macleod dreams about spanking Amanda?"

"Don't we all." Joe muttered before he thought about it.

Methos gave him a sidelong look.

"So no happy ever after?" Joe asked annoyed.

"A secret romantic Joe?" The slouch had turned into a cramped hunch as Methos spoke. The words held a wistful sadness that Joe thought he had only heard from Methos when he talked about Alexa. It was the voice of someone who had found something he cherished only to know that there was never going to be enough time. That at the end of whatever too short period they had together it was going to end with him going on alone.

While Joe liked Methos, most of the time anyway, he had always secretly hoped that Duncan would be 'The One'. It was something of a jolt to realise that Methos was positive that he would outlive Duncan, presumably as he had outlived so many other champions. Joe could almost convince himself that it was sympathetic regret he could see in the still hazel of Methos' eyes as he continued. "I don't think either of us really believe in happy ever after any more. But we might be able to manage as happy as possibly for as long as we have."

Joe studied Methos carefully, a sinking feeling in his gut. "Do you love him?"

Methos picked up a slim, green book from the desk. A book of Byron's poetry Joe recognized and felt obscurely guilty. Methos didn't look at the title, just turned the volume over in his hands.

"As much as I can." The honesty in Methos' tone was painful.

Joe thought of Alexa. Of how much Methos had loved the woman he had only know for a year. How he had risked his life to try and save her and how he hadn't even argued or prevaricated when Joe had called him to tell him that Mac was in trouble. And one day they might end up having to kill each other. Joe knew what Duncan had told him about Methos offering him his head the first time Kalas caused trouble but he also remembered what Methos had said about the other Methos. Would Methos have offered his head as a test or a ploy? Joe wouldn't put it past him. Would he offer Duncan his head if it came down to just the two of them? Joe honestly wasn't sure but he found himself afraid that Methos would.

"You can't fool me Methos." Joe told him gruffly. "I have seen how much that is."

Methos met his eyes squarely. "Then I am not fooling you, am I Joe?"

"He loves you too you know." Joe didn't know why he was telling Methos that. Methos probably had a better idea than Joe did about Duncan's state of mind where Methos was concerned.

"Yes I know," Methos smiled "but Duncan Macleod loves many people. It is part of what gives him his amazing passion for life, that ability to love. I don't want to be the person who takes that from him."

Joe wondered if that was Methos' way of saying Duncan was a bit of a slut. Not that Joe hadn't thought it a time or too... Duncan got all the good women, and apparently the men as well although 'good' was probably a debatable concept where Methos was concerned.

"Then don't." Joe told him.

Methos shook his head with that condescending smugness that irritated everyone. "If only it was that simple."

"Make it that simple." Joe didn't have any time for Methos' plots and complications where Duncan was involved. Actually he didn't have much time for them even when Duncan wasn't.

"What take Duncan's head?" Methos chuckled. "As tempting as that might be on occasion I just don't see that as good solution, do you Joe?"

Joe took great pleasure in returning one of the many 'looks' Methos had given him over the years. "Did taking Kronos' head make things more simple?"

Methos wasn't noticeably fazed. "Yes. And no." He said as if that explained everything. Joe was tempted to see how much damage he could actually do with his cane.

"Well that was informative."

"Yes."

Joe had never believed Methos' 'who me' act and this time was not going to become the exception to the rule. But he had to admit that he couldn't stay cross with Methos for very long though. The man was undoubtedly annoying, and deliberately so, but as the man had said himself - he could do cute. Joe liked to tell himself that Methos doing cute didn't work on him... he just didn't find himself very convincing.

Joe gave in. "Why do I put up with you?"

"Because the alternative..." Methos began.

"...Would be unthinkable." Joe finished. "Just tell me one thing if nothing else. What makes you so sure there is a 'someday' to wait for."

A bit of proof that Duncan had ever gone for guys would, in Joe's opinion, have been a good start. He would be the first to admit that the Watchers didn't know everything but as an organisation they had predated most of the comparatively modern sexual hangups. Some of the more repressed Watchers might have missed the difference between close friends, fuck buddies and partners and most didn't actually _check_ whether two people sharing a room were doing so to save on costs so it was possible for such things to go unnoticed but there was not even the faintest suspicion in Macleod's journal.

"Because Kronos liked knives." Methos failed to explain. Joe wondered if he could actually start a campaign to get Methos' picture included in the dictionary under 'enigmatic'. And possibly under 'son of a bitch'. "Whips scared the horses." Methos put the book he had been holding down. "We should open the bar."

"Was that supposed to make sense to me." Joe grumbled but gestured for Methos to proceed him. He still couldn't quite pin down the reason but he felt much more spritely than he normally did. He was tired, despite the fact that Mac had done most of the driving, he had still not got that much sleep the night before. But his thighs, hips and stumps didn't feel like it was getting onto evening. Joe just hoped the story about gift horses was true rather than the one about things seeming too good.

"No." Methos dismissed Joe's complaints. "But you asked for the reason and that is it."

They wandered down the hall bickering.

"You are hopeless."

"No Joe. I am very hopeful." Methos held back the curtain and let Joe proceed him. "Where there is life there is hope after all."

Taking the key Joe unlocked the doors for the unsuspecting public. All was ready. The barflies would buzz in soon enough and then things would settle until the after dinner rush packed the place like blue sardines. Joe hoped that Giles and Ethan would be back later. He had exchanged both e-mail and normal mail addresses with Giles but he would like to have a chance to play together again, for old time's sake if nothing else. In their jobs you never really knew when you would get your next chance.

"And on the subject of hope... which God did you dedicate my bar to exactly?"

Joe had the first pint halfway down the glass before his first customer reached the bar and he didn't comment when Methos just started acting as a waiter.

Methos laughed, a deep joyous sound.

"One who will look over the place Joseph." Methos promised "For as long as I live."

~~&lt;*&gt;~~


End file.
